


tongue of dog and blind-worm's sting

by Zercalo



Series: double, double toil and trouble [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Cora Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Multi, Quidditch, Teacher-Student Relationship, Warning: Kate Argent, dead children, shunning as a form of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zercalo/pseuds/Zercalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to keep the identity of the teacher he's been seeing a secret, Derek's been withdrawing from his pack and family. Cora, frustrated with his alienation and a little lonely, clings to the first nonjudgmental person who offers companionship – which happens to be that odd Muggleborn Revenclaw who's always hanging around the Gryffindor common room. </p>
<p>She hasn't befriended Stiles for Derek's sake, but Derek just might reap the benefits anyway - if he pulls his head out of his ass and quit the stupid self-sacrificing act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working with rerumtechnologies - who kindly and generously offered help with proof-reading - on fixing the problems this story has, so I'll be reposing chapters. I'm not sure if this will make the story appear again somewhere on your reading queue but if it does, I'm sorry for spamming you. ^^'
> 
> Despite the summary, the story is not in Cora's POV. 
> 
> *  
> I know that for some reason people who usually write these fusions like to pretend that HP characters don't exist. Although Harry himself and his friends are only mentioned in passing, Neville is a teacher at Hogwarts. And he's not the only one I'm using in here.
> 
> Heed the warnings - it's not rated as it is for no reason, there's plenty of terrible stuff later on.

 

When Derek walks into the headmistress' office, Kate's robe is already out on her desk. It's neatly folded so that the Hogwarts crest is visible. Even to someone who doesn't already know who it belongs to, it's obvious that the robe is a part of a teacher's set, and not a student's.

Like Derek needs to be reminded why he's there.

He gets into one of the chairs, slumps down until his shoulders are touching the low backrest.

“Derek,” Prof. Sinistra sighs, because they both know how this goes. He refuses to look at her. “Don't let this ruin your future. I can't give you a good recommendation at the end of your education with these many detentions on your record.”

He shrugs, “So stop giving me detentions.”

“I can't do that. Someone on my staff committed a serious misconduct. You're only sixteen, Derek. I cannot just let it go, and you're smart enough to know this.”

There's nothing to say to that. He's tried to convince her he's a willing participant, more than once, but it hasn't worked. Prof. Sinistra called his parents. It was the most humiliating, uncomfortable hour of his life, sitting here in the office while the headmistress of Hogwarts explained how he'd been found in a compromising position in one of the empty classrooms. With a teacher. The only reason Kate got a chance to get out of there in time was because Prof. Bakeley was convinced Derek was with another student and she retreated in the hallway to allow them to get dressed. But Kate forgot her outer robe in her haste and things just went downhill from there.

Minutes tick by them, loaded with tension and the low murmur coming from the portraits. Prof. Sinistra even disregards the paperwork she's been doing earlier and is watching Derek patiently. After allowing him more than enough time to give him the name of the teacher he's been seeing, she finally says, “As you wish, then. Another week of detentions. I will see you next Friday, unless you decide to tell me the truth before that - in which case my door is always open. Let's go.”

Derek breathes out in relief before standing up to follow her. It's only been three weeks, but he hates these Friday afternoon chats Prof. Sinistra is forcing on him. Once they get to the part where she assigns him detention, he counts the entire week a success.

In the hallway in front of the office, on one of the few benches lined up under the row of windows, there's a student waiting. Derek doesn't know him, or at least he thinks he doesn't. The guy has a blue goo of some sort all over him, stuck to the robes, to the muggle shoes, caked in his hair and covering most of his face. He's only somewhat clean around the eyes, nose and mouth, but that's not enough for Derek to put a name to the face. Or a name to the scent - as that, too, is completely covered by the bitter stench of the blue goo.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Prof. Sinistra says with a sigh, “Again?”

“It's not my fault!” Stilinski instantly calls, and Derek doesn't have to be close enough to hear his heartbeat, it's so obviously a lie. Prof. Sinistra raises a single, skeptical eyebrow.

“No? You did not pull another childish prank on your housemates? Haven't I told you that you're too old for this?”

“Um, no,” Stilinski says with a crooked grin. “You told me I'm too old to _use magic_ for such unproductive endeavors. You said I was _wasting my potential_.”

“So you decided to prove me wrong?”

“No, I decided to prove you right! Because you were, you know? It was getting old. I put in so much hard work, and then I had to wait for hours until someone forgets to cast a detecting charm. And they're much better at the detecting charms than I am at hiding my work. But hey, who knew good old chemistry would come in handy at a magic school, huh?”

He's delighted with his success – though Derek isn't quite sure how can he count it as such when it has obviously gone wrong - and unconcerned with the detention he's about to serve, so he's already better than that pale forth year Derek's had to listen to moan about his fate the entire evening on Wednesday. The talking, though. Derek hopes that dries out soon.

“Another detention, tomorrow at noon, Mr. Stilinski. For twisting my words and using them against me. Come on, now, both of you.”

“What? But it's Saturday tomorrow!” Stilinski complains, following her quickly. Now he doesn't look all that gleeful.

“I'm sure your housemates will be happy to run an errand for you, in case you need something from Hogsmeade.” When Stilinski doesn't say anything, just clasps his mouth shut in an angry scowl, she smiles, a little coldly. “No? Well, that might be because you keep pulling silly pranks on them when they're trying to study. It's not a good way to make friends.”

“I have friends,” Stilinski mutters, so low Derek is sure there's no way Prof. Sinistra can hear him. He adds, louder, “It's for their own good. Who studies on a Friday? It's unhealthy. They ought to thank me, really.”

Derek can't help himself, because he'd never have guessed, “You're in Ravenclaw?”

Stilinski looks back at him, squinting, “Was that supposed to be an insult? Because I'm not feeling the sting, sorry.”

“It's just hard to tell when your badge is covered in something other than a stack of books,” Derek says, already sorry he's opened his mouth at all.

Stilinski waves his hands at Derek like he's all the proof one could want, turns back to Prof. Sinistra, “See? With a reputation like that, I _am_ doing them a favor! It's one thing to study on a Friday when you have an exam on Monday. But in June?! It's September now, and there's this one girl, in the fifth year, she has her hair falling out from stress already.”

Prof. Sinistra hasn't seemed like she's been listening, but she stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to face Stilinski. “Which student is this? Has she visited the hospital wing? Have you told anyone?”

“I've told _you_ , just now. I mean, maybe she's not telling the truth, maybe it's not from stress, but she says so.” Darkly, he adds, “You'd think that damn hat would have put a girl like that in a more cheerful environment, but noooo. I'm telling you, that thing is out to get us all.”

“What is the name of the student in question, Mr. Stilinski?” Prof. Sinistra patiently steers the conversation back to the topic she's got interest in. Razor sharp focus and determination seem like essential skills to have while dealing with this guy.

“Um, Sidney something? I'm not sure. But you can tell by the bald patch she has above her ear. She's been covering it with this blue band, all Ravenclaw-like. It's muggle, elastic. And kinda glittery.”

Prof. Sinistra nods. Derek thinks she looks a little overstressed, herself. By Hogwarts standards, she's too young to be the Headmistress, but she's one of the most experienced teachers they've got. Most professors retired after the war. Apparently, decades of working in dreadful conditions took a toll on the general health of Hogwarts teachers.

“Out here,” Prof. Sinistra says after another turn. She opens the double door and lets them both in front of her out onto the Clock Tower Courtyard. “Your wands, please.”

Stilinski asks, “Can I at least go clean up, first? I'll be quick!”

“No,” she refuses, and it sounds a little like she means, _I hope it itches_.

Derek reaches for his wand and cringes as he catches Stilinski do the same in his periphery vision. He doesn't want to be one of those people, full of prejudice and stereotyping, because he's been the victim of it his whole life, but seriously. Having to lift your robes to reach the back pocket of your pants to get to your wand is just unpractical. Only a child of a muggle would ever even consider keeping his wand there.

He thinks he sees a disapproving twist on Prof. Sinistra's mouth, but she doesn't say anything about it. “You won't be using any tools today. Prof. Harris is doing rounds this evening, so find him once you clean this out and he will let you out of your detention.”

Stilinski groans, “Harris, brilliant. And it's windy!” Prof. Sinistra ignores him, closing the double doors behind her. “Great, we'll be here till midnight – if we're lucky.”

He's right, they'll be out there forever. The weather is awful. Browned ivy and magnolia leaves rustle as they catch in the wind, and the sky is heavy with the promise of rain. At least that might work in Stilinski's favor, clean him up a bit. But this detention assignment... Derek wouldn't be too sure where to start cleaning out the courtyard even with a wand. Prof. Sinistra must have been in an especially foul mood today to assign this pointless exercise.

Stilinski grabs a handful of leaves that have already started gathering at his feet. He lets them fall and the wind takes them up and over their heads, all crushed and stained blue.

“You should have cast a cleaning charm on yourself while you could,” Derek says, not sure what else to do.

Stilinski laughs a little, like Derek's told a mildly amusing joke. “Yeah, no. I tried that once. Never again. Have you got any idea how much it hurts when you remove two layers of your own skin?”

Derek shrugs. It's not a real question, but he's started the conversation so it'd be awkward if he ignored it now. “I don't know what to do,” he admits.

Stilinski rubs his head, smears the goo some more across his forehead, and looks around. The courtyard is elevated on a rock and there's a small bridge connecting it to the path that leads toward the Owlery.

“Okay, let's try this,” he says. “The wind is pretty steadily blowing in this direction, right?” He goes through the line of arches onto the courtyard balcony. He ends up standing only a few meters from the place Kate let Derek kiss her once last year, leaning over with a handful of leaves in hand. When he lets them go, the wind carries them into the distance, away from the courtyard. “We'll just gather them and let them fly off?”

Derek hasn't a better idea, so he shrugs again. “Okay.”

He gets a blue stained grin for his efforts. Stilinski has some of the goo in his teeth. It's sort of hilarious, so Derek turns away to start gathering leaves before he can burst out laughing.

They settle into it. The wind is too loud for Stilinski to try and hold a conversation, but Derek can hear him mutter and rant to himself, about brooms and vacuums and his fingernails and some things he's can’t quite put a picture to. It's well after dark when he realizes that the mutters are replaced with sounds of teeth cluttering. It's not that cold. Is it?

And they are nowhere near finished

Still, Derek stops near Stilinski. “We should go find Harris.”

“No way, he'll just enjoy my suffering. Trust me, we – well, _I_ – I won't be seeing my bed until this is all clean and I just may take you down with me unintentionally.”

“That's ridiculous. This is impossible without magic.” And even with magic, the wind would still just bring in more mess.

“He _hates_ me,” Stilinski says. “He thinks he's some sort of Snape the Second and I was stupid enough to experiment in his class. The potion blew up all over him, and he's been hating my guts ever since.”

Harris, it's true, isn't the most pleasant person in the world, but surely Stilinski is exaggerating. Or possibly not, seeing that he's shivering from cold yet refusing to stop.

“You're freezing,” Derek insists. He's about ready to drag the boy inside by the tie, but the blue goo makes a convincing argument against it. “Just come on, I'll ask.”

Stilinski looks tempted. “Okay, but when we find him, I'll stay back. He'll just get pissy if he sees me and you'll end up suffering, too.”

Derek hadn't been cold outside, but it's a relief not to listen to Stilinski's shivering and watch him rub his hands together once they go in. There are no dormitories in this part of the castle, so the lit torches are few and far in between. The air is warmer, though, because the thick walls of Hogwarts and layers of ancient magic in them refuse to let the cold air inside.

“I swear, this damn castle is the scariest place in the world,” Stilinski mutters. His mouth is a grim line when Derek turns to look at him, surprised.

“Especially at night. I keep expecting something to jump me, something to scream or just breathe down my neck. It's creepy. I hate coming out at night.”

“Hogwarts?” Derek asks, aware his voice is full of disbelief. “You're not serious.”

He hears Stilinski swallow before saying, “Do you know how many people have died here? In the last century alone?”

“There was a war. And what does that have to do with anything? People die everywhere.”

Stilinski shrugs, one shoulder up and down in slow motion. “I know. It's probably a muggle thing, we don't take to ghosts that well. It just freaks me out. So many people, so much blood... under one roof.”

A few doors down a corridor on the left, someone starts walking and Derek startles a little, heart rate elevating. Stilinski doesn't even notice, lost in his frowning at the shadows, and Derek glares at him. He's managed to freak them both out, somehow.

“Over here,” he snaps, turning left.

“Oh, jeez, I didn't mean to insult your precious school, sorry. I like it here, too. I mean, mostly. It's just a little eerie at...”

Derek is not listening to him because now he can smell the person who's made the noise and it's not Harris. Kate turns the corner, a smirk on her lips, dressed in muggle clothes, outer robes folded over her arm.

Stilinski whispers, “Holy...” but Derek dares not to say a thing or change his pace or move a muscle in his face.

Makeup and dim light make Kate's face sharp and beautiful as she stops in front of them and the smirk spreads into a smile. “Mr. Hale,” she says, breezily. “Mr. Stilinski. A bit late for a walk, don't you think?”

“Um,” Stilinski says after a moment. “Detention, Prof. Argent. We were cleaning out the courtyard.”

“We're looking for Prof. Harris, he's supposed to let us out,” Derek adds.

“I see,” Kate hums, stepping close enough to pick a bit of goo off Stilinski's shoulder. His reaction is weird, this spasm-flinch he does. Like her touching him is a horrible thing. Derek can't help but give him a questioning look. Stilinski is practically frowning at Kate, though. She doesn't seem to notice and turns to Derek instead, “And you, Mr. Hale? Why are you in detention tonight?”

Derek keeps his eyes on her fingers rubbing a smear of blue between them. “Refusal to cooperate.”

“Really? That doesn't sound like you at all,” Kate murmurs. “I just saw Harris a few minutes ago, you're going in the right direction. Hurry up, boys, it's getting late.”

Kate goes around them, and they both turn to watch her leave. Her steps are sure and her legs look extra-long in those tight black pants that always make Derek feel vaguely embarrassed but very interested anyway.

“Well, that's a little... wow,” Stilinski says.

“What?”

“The clothes she's wearing. That cleavage, good God. You think she's going out?”

“Out where?” Derek asks and it'd be a legitimate question if he hadn't gotten a little note that afternoon that told him exactly where Kate will be tonight.

“I don't know, a bar? Maybe she'll floo to a city and go to a club. You certainly don't put on makeup like that to spend the night in a school full of students you're teaching, you know?”

Derek shrugs. She's not going out, she's dressed like that for him. It makes him a little hot to think about it. “Come on, it's really getting late.”

Several minutes later, Derek hears Harris. Like they agreed, he goes to see the man alone. Harris gives Derek both their wands with a bored, sleepy expression and sends him on his way.

“I can't wait to get into the shower,” Stilinski says, lifting his robe to pocket his wand. The muggle clothes he's wearing underneath are shockingly clean, but the goo on him is strong enough to completely cover his scent. He waves, turns towards the main staircase because Ravenclaw house is on one of the upper levels. “See you around, Derek.”

Derek waits until the sound of his steps disappear completely before he heads back, in the same direction Kate had chosen. He's wondering idly if he should have made an effort to find out Stilinski's first name or not.

 

***

 

The stairwell up to the Ravenclaw tower is, like always, claustrophobic and badly lit. There's no way two people can climb side by side. If you manage to trip, you'll likely be tumbling down until you reach the bottom. It's a long way to fall. Magical super instant healing spells or not, that's a lot of broken bones.

That's what Stiles always thinks when he's going to his common room. He's a little distracted tonight, though. It might be his very sad inexperience talking here, but the blatant show of sexuality Prof. Argent demonstrated tonight is something that works on television or possibly from afar. In real life and up close, it apparently just makes a fifteen-year-old guy overwhelmed and uncomfortable.

Derek's reacted better, all cool and calm. Then again, everyone knows Derek has had sex. With a teacher. Maybe it's Kate Argent, who knows. She's certainly one of the main suspects, if the student gossip is right, though far from being the only possibility. Stiles can all of the sudden see her go after a student with no trouble in his mind. If so, at least she's picked a student who looks two or three years older than he actually is.

No, scratch that, the bigger surprise than a Hogwarts teacher in a tight tank top is the fact that, apparently, Derek Hale is a person. Not just a hot Quidditch player with that werewolf-typical aura of aggression and intensity and the biggest gossip target of Stiles' years at Hogwarts, but a living, breathing person.

Stiles might have gone a little moony over him when Derek looked at him and helplessly admitted he had no idea what to do about the leaves. It'd been priceless and adorable.

It _is_ Derek Hale, though, so he should really give it up right now, before another Lydia Martin disaster.

The idiotic knocker at the entrance to the Ravenclaw tower greets him with, “ _What kind of tree can you carry in your hand?_ ”

Stiles is not bad with puzzles, not really. But you have to stop and really think about them. It always ends up a guessing game for him.

“Uh,” he hazards, “a small one?” The knocker does not look impressed with his attempt. “The Asian one, what's it called? Bonsai?” No response. Stiles looks down on his hand. A tree he can hold in his hand... But these puzzles, they're usually tricks, word games. A tree he can hold on his... _Ah_. “Palm. Palm tree.”

The door squeaks open for him and he sighs, steels his nerves. The common room is clean now, the only evidence of the prank is all over him – it's a price he had to pay for it to work at all. A few students are still up, immersed in their books. They ignore him, like he doesn't exist at all, as they almost always do. And while on some days it's a blessing, on others all he wants is to scream at them until their ears bleed.

It's another reason the pranks are efficient. As pathetic as that sounds, when they're yelling at him, at least his housemates are not ignoring him. But he's mostly doing them because more often than not, they're convinced his things are booby-trapped and so they don't try to touch them. Chasing your ties and socks around the hallways of Hogwarts is not a fun way to spend an evening, Ravenclaw tradition or not.

The dorm is also quiet, and dark. Waking up his roommates would result in nothing but some more ignoring, but since he can, Stiles chooses this unintentional kind of silence. He tiptoes to get fresh clothes and to the bathroom, where it takes an hour to get clean. Bless whomever or whatever is taking care of hot water at Hogwarts. It never runs out.

In preparation for the morning, in case the others wake up first and decide to try and retaliate, Stiles casts the few wards he knows. It doesn't make him feel safe enough, so he wakes up many times during the night and finally gives up around four, gets dressed and wanders outside the Ravenclaw house.

 

*

 

A week or so later, Stiles is just finishing the chapter Prof. Bakeley assigned for the afternoon class when Cora Hale comes down to breakfast. She doesn't ask why he is eating at the Gryffindor table even though Scott isn't up yet. There are only a few seventh years sitting at the end, discussing something. Cora slides into the bench across from Stiles, and fills her plate with enough food to feed a classroom of hungry students.

“What?” she snaps when she notices his agape mouth. “It was the full moon last night, I'm hungry.”

“You're mistaking my awe and jealousy for something judgmental, I think.”

Now that she's mentioned it, he can see the signs of the full moon on her. Her hair is wild, like most of the teeth on her comb fell out without her noticing. Her eyes are bright and wide awake.

“Did you go out?”

Cora looks surprised he's still talking to her, but not unpleasantly so. He thinks. It's hard to tell, what with the constant scowling. “No. Why?”

“I don't know.” And fine, maybe he really wants to continue this conversation. Scott won't be up for another hour and its Thursday, he won't have any classes with Gryffindor or Hufflepuff and won't see any friendly faces for the rest of the day, so he says, “It's the Forest. We're forbidden to go in, which is the one sure way to make me want to go in, you know? What is it like?”

She swallows a huge mouthful before she answers, “Old.”

“Well, that's detailed and illuminating. The effort you put in the description might have strained something, though, tread carefully for a while.”

She rolls her eyes. “It's a forest, Stilinski. There are trees. There are animals and beings, spirits and beasts, dens and burrows and nests. Just do what everyone else does and sneak in.”

He pulls a palm up at her annoyance. “Fine, I get it.”

She wolfs down another huge bite before she says, “Don't, though.”

“Huh?”

“Don't sneak in. Into the forest. Don't.”

“Or I'll get eaten?”

“Eaten, or worse, lost. I know it doesn't mean much to you, but 'old' is really the best description. The older the forest, the more potent the magic – it breeds things humans have no words for and I can't explain them to you. Or. Just. If you decide to explore, don't go deep. Or alone. Okay?”

She sounds so concerned, like she'll be held personally responsible if he decides to go, so he reassures her, “I won't. Wasn't really planning on it. I honestly didn't even think it was that interesting, um, until your little speech just now.”

Cora's plate is half empty and she's eating more steadily now, no huge mouthfuls. A minute or so later, when Stiles is sure they're done, she says, “It is interesting. There are only a few forests as old as that in the world and I've never been to any of the others. And with the pull of the full moon, it's... It's like, it feels alive, all around you. You feel alive. Like when you touch your wand for the first time, only a thousand times stronger.”

Even with all the wonders Stiles has experienced since getting his Hogwarts letter, making his wand produce sparkles, warm and _awake_ in his hand, has been the most magical moment of his life. So he swallows, suddenly longing to go into the forest.

“Why didn't you go last night, then?”

She shrugs. “It feels amazing, but... I keep thinking that I'll let go too much and never come out, never come back to my pack. So I don't go in alone. But Laura finished Hogwarts last spring and Derek... Well, Derek is not himself lately.”

Like everyone else, Stiles knows all about the scandal and Derek's refusal to cooperate and how upset his pack is about it. “Yeah, I had a detention with him the other day.”

She opens her mouth a few times, finally settles on, “Is he okay?”

Stiles laughs. “How would I know? Maybe you should talk to him.” Her mouth set in a grim, unhappy line, like it's the last thing in the world she'll do. Despite wanting to know how he is badly enough to ask a practically compete stranger. “He didn't look ready to throw himself off the Clock Tower, if that means something. I'm pretty sure he contemplated punching the wind into submission at one point, when it brought a fresh load of leaves onto a surface we'd already cleaned, but... Yeah, I actually got excited it might work, so I can't hold it against his general wellbeing, you know?”

Cora's blinking at him, face blank, blank, blank... and then she grins like a madwoman, “Oooooohh.”

He won't pretend either one of them is stupid, and she's probably used her superhuman powers on him, heard his pulse quicken or something, so he narrows his eyes at her. “You shut up.”

“You have a crush on my brother,” she says anyway – and fine, so Stiles might have spent an undetermined amount of time watching Derek over this last week every chance he got. She could be right.

“As does everyone else in school, Cora, really – unless they're male and straight, in which case they have hots for _you_.” Yes, his plan to shut her up is to distract her with a compliment. She does look cheered up, so he braves on, “What about during the day?”

“Huh?”

“You don't want to go into the Forest alone during the full moon, but how do you feel about going in there during the day? When the moon is not up at all? With me?”

“That sounds like a horribly misguided attempt at asking a werewolf out on a date.” She sounds displeased with the possibility. He feels vaguely insulted, even though it hasn't ever occurred to him to try. Cora is very pretty, just not... the right kind of pretty? Something, anyway.

“Which is not what I'm doing,” he assures her anyway, swallowing pride. “I'm curious now, and I figure, if you're with me, it'll be alright. I won't get lost, or eaten.”

“But I'm a werewolf,” Cora says, uncertain.

“Um, that's my point. You – big, strong magical creature. Me – helpless human. You, protect me. From things trying to eat me. It's fairly simple.”

“You'd trust me to protect you?”

Stiles is starting to feel he's missing something here. “I'm sorry? During the full moon, I mean, no offense, but no way. I've never even seen a werewolf go all - wolfy. But you don't change into a completely different person just because you walk into the Forest, right?”

“No,” Cora replies flatly. “I don't turn into a different person.”

“So, then? I promise it's just curiosity, I'm not asking you to date me or anything.”

“Good,” she lifts her chin high. “Because my brother is an asshole and I could use every friend I can get. We can go after the match with Slytherin, 'cause I need to practice till then.”

Stiles smiles at her.

 

At lunch that day, Cora gets onto the bench next to Stiles. She is tense and Scott gives her an odd look, but no one says anything about her sudden presence. They're soon discussing Quidditch strategy and it doesn't feel strange at all – except Stiles can't remember where she usually sits at meals.

He pays careful attention to both Hales over the next few days.

It quickly becomes obvious that Cora doesn't have friends. Most people are friendly, some girls clearly talk behind her back – which doesn't seem like a smart thing to do to a werewolf, honestly. Cora doesn't, either used to it or she's not paying them any attention at all. Some boys hit on her, but she doesn't have any patience for them. So, yeah, a lot of people pay attention to her and most are friendly, but no actual friends.

Stiles is determined to change that, because he can use every friend he can get, too.

The careful attention he pays to Derek often strays to places that are not related to how Derek is doing, as Cora's brother or otherwise. But he's quiet and keeps to himself and Stiles has nothing to compare his behavior to, so he ends up just... looking.

It might be a little obsessive. Admiring from afar never hurt anyone, though, and Derek will never even notice Stiles took any interest. Dozens of people - quite literally dozens - turn to watch him when he walks by in the Great Hall, all dark and detached and painfully unaware.

Cora teases Stiles, sometimes. He tries not to get too defensive about it, because in his past experience with unrequited crushes, that always ends in people pushing their teasing just a little too far, until the humor dries out and the words just hurt.

Days go by in Cora and Scott practicing for the match every chance they get. Stiles reads a library book on werewolves when they are busy with it, sitting all the way up in the stands, wrapped in a magical warmth he's becoming an expert on. He's had to learn to fly to pass the flying lessons in his first year, but that's that. Riding a broom is scary and it requires a lot of focus, especially to reach the heights Quidditch players go up to so comfortably. Stiles' broom always ends up pulling in three different ways at once, trying uselessly to follow his mind as it goes through all possibilities. It's a disaster waiting to happen, so he doesn't fly.

Quidditch is _brutal,_ anyway, and chaotic. The only things good about it are that with the way catching the snitch gets far too many points, it requires a lot of strategy, and because of the speed of the game, the players have no option but to work together flawlessly as a team.

It's a shame Hogwarts doesn't offer any other forms of recreation. Stiles used to be the quickest kid in his class, pretty good at sports – small enough to twist around other players, yet big enough for it to count when he wanted it to.

Watching Quidditch is fun, though. Scott flies fast and fearless after the quaffle, gets his hands on it easily, like he's charming it to come to him (he doesn't), and is a good enough team player to then pass it along to the teammates who have better aim. Liam's got an eye of a hawk for the snitch, but he seems to have a little bit of an issue with flying as high as the snitch insists on climbing.

But Derek and Cora are the stars of the Gryffindor team. Werewolves aren't allowed to play professionally because they have a savage, flawless grace to go with the brutal strength. It just isn't fair to anyone else. And yet that's not even half of what makes this pair so good.

They are like one person split into two halves. They move like they have a mental link between them. You can't even see the bludger as they pass it, because they don't need to watch their strength with each other. And – and this one is Stiles' favorite, because it's like a mocking nod to all the rumors and protests – they've never sent anyone to the hospital wing, not even on accident. Even though the very definition of the beater position gives them a practically blanket permission to do so.

It's about the lingering fear and prejudice, not allowing it to take root through resentment, and not about anyone actually getting hurt. Quidditch wouldn't exist if that's anyone's top priority. Still, there are students who complain about the blatant advantages. Even before befriending Cora, Stiles's opinion has been that with the amount of forethought and effort they put into the game, they've earned their right to play it.

So it's a great time to be a supporter of Gryffindor – up until Prof. Sinistra decides Derek needs further incentive to tell the truth and bans him from playing. Everyone is stunned for a few days, making half-hearted plans around it, until they go to a practice.

Agonizing might be the best word to express the feeling of watching that fiasco. Cora can't orient herself up there, can't seem to locate Mason, the hastily chosen replacement beater, without a lot of trouble. Her throws are too hard for him to receive, or sometimes just too strong. It's much more difficult when the other beater does not anticipate where the bludgers will go.

Scott yells at Derek in the common room that day, red in the face and on the verge of some sort of attack that might end up in him not breathing. For a long time, Derek lets him. His face is so blank it's like he's not a person at all.

Cora comes down from her dorm with eyes red and shoulders stiff. She ignores her brother, and the whispers and stares of her housemates, to come stop in front of Stiles and demands, “Let's go to the Forest.”

Their deal has been after the first match, but Stiles gets off the comfortable red armchair he's managed to snatch in the chaos without mentioning that. It's cold out, so he says, “I'm gonna need my jacket.”

He's also going to get out of the robe altogether. Stomping around in a forest while all the edges of his clothes are loose and free to stuck to branches sounds like a terrible idea. Cora follows him in a temper, marching the hallways with a glower so mighty that her eyes don't need a werewolf's glow to effectively keep all students they come across out of their way.

The knocker welcomes them at the top of the stairs with, _“At night they come without being fetched. By day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?”_

“The stars,” Cora snaps at it like it's offending to even ask. “Seriously? You have to do this every time?”

The door promptly swings open. Stiles laughs a little, relieved he doesn't have to play the guessing game. “Oh, yeah. And it's different every single time you try, it's like it's got an endless supply of riddles and remembers exactly which one it’s asked which student.”

“What if someone can't solve it?”

“It doesn't happen often, oddly enough. It's like the thing knows exactly how much you can handle.”

Ancient Ravenclaw wisdom does not impress Cora, “It doesn't seem all that secure to me. Anyone who can solve a riddle can come inside, and plenty of evil people are smart.”

“Er, I think the point is to keep students from other houses out, not... evil-doers.”

Her blunt human teeth somehow look scary in the grin she gives him, “I just got in.”

Two large study groups have taken over the common room. The obligatory silence during study sessions is so complete it's probably the most supernatural of all the things Stiles has ever experienced. They're still ignoring him, technically, but those few who dig their heads out of their books long enough to check who's come in look scandalized.

“What is she doing here?”

“Looking for people to help me cope with my frustration,” Cora snarls. “Are you volunteering?”

“Keep her on a leash, Stilinski,” a seventh-year guy in the middle of one of the groups says, bypassing her like she's really a dog and can't understand English. Cora grins at him, all teeth that look a little less blunt than usual. She's really working off her frustration on them, but Stiles shouldn't be feeling this much satisfaction at the sight of their alarmed faces.

It's as if he's actually using her as a guard dog, though. Which he isn't. Doesn't need one, either.

“One, that's a really weak insult, like, a first year Hufflepuff with a crush can do better than that,” he answers as coldly as he can manage, addressing the room at large, “and two, if you can't be bothered to nod at me when we cross paths, you don't get to tell me to do.”

“She's not in Ravenclaw, she can't be here,” somebody else cuts in, like that's an argument.

“I'm not in Gryffindor, yet I go there all the time and the castle hasn't yet shown any signs of getting ready to fall on our heads. Come on, Cora, it's this way.”

“Maybe I should wait here,” Cora suggests, her angry, darkened gaze turned away from him. Stiles is a little tempted to let her stay, let her scare them, but she's been off. Too harsh, too wild. As hard as it is to imagine her hurt anyone, better not risk it. It would suck if she got expelled.

“Or maybe you shouldn't,” he tells her quietly. “You're not angry with them, anyway, so scaring them out of their wits isn't gonna fix anything.”

“I am angry with them,” she disagrees. “You hate them.”

He will have to be more careful with what he tells her.

“I hate being housed with them, Cora. I only occasionally want them torn to pieces - but not today. Because we have plans, remember?”

She lets him pull her along while everyone else in the common room remain quiet and still. They are a smart, sensible bunch, after all.

There's no one in his dorm room. Cora lingers near the door, taking in the made beds, the tidy desks and the overpowering, sunlit blue-ness of it all.

“I wouldn't have hurt anyone.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at her sulking, “And it's important not to give them a reason to truly think otherwise. Do you want to join your brother in detention every night of the week? Get expelled? Because I might be muggleborn, but even I know that werewolves at Hogwarts is a new and tentative thing.”

“You gonna let me off my leash to nibble on some bunnies later?”

Startled with her acidity, Stiles looks up from his trunk. “Cora. Please sit down and take a breath.”

She deflects and throws herself onto his bed like the invitation's all she's been waiting for. Stiles goes into the bathroom to change into some jeans and get rid of the tie, but leaves the white uniform shirt and the soft woolen sweater on. When he comes back into the room, Cora has flipped onto her stomach and her nose is buried into his pillow.

“We can go.”

“In a minute,” she mumbles, and after a moment, “Come here, I'm not gonna bite.”

Well, it is his bed. He toes his shoes off and sits with his back against the wall. Cora immediately presses the tip of her head against his side. Minutes pass in silence and quiet breathing.

“Are we taking a nap?” Stiles finally asks.

“Would you?” she mumbles. “With me?”

“Um, sure, but...”

“It's not like that. I miss my pack.” Her voice is all naked misery and sick puppies and suddenly, Stiles is missing his dad like crazy. Yeah, he would. Will. With her.

He makes himself more comfortable. And, speaking of, “So this is, what? A puppy pile?”

“Yes, actually. A pathetically small puppy pile. Contact helps. With healing. Sometimes with other things, like dealing with the fact your brother is an idiot.” She looks up at him with bleary eyes, all anger gone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A tiny human-werewolf puppy pile, Stiles' very first one. His dad's gonna be so confused when he hears about it. Will possibly give him condoms. “People will talk, though, you know that?”

“What do you care?”

“I don't, I mean, this can only help my non-existent reputation, and you're very welcome if you think it'll help either way, but I don't want your brother to kill me when he hears about you spending time in my bed.”

Cora drops an arm around him, ready to settle in. She snorts. “You mean, you don't want him to think you have a girlfriend.”

“Since that wouldn't make any difference at all, I can honestly say that no, that's not it. I just don't want him to kill me, which he could. With, like, his smallest toe. Possibly just a look. Not to mention claws, teeth and, oh yeah, his wand.”

“You worry so much, Stiles. Derek is a werewolf, too, remember. He'll be able to tell we're friends and he knows I'm upset. He won't jump to conclusions. And anyway, you smell a lot like me these days, in a very platonic way, which means that to him, you'll just reek of pack.”

“I do? That doesn't sound so good.” More like, a little toward incest, even with the attraction only on this side.

“No, it's good. It has a calming effect, that's all. It's something I can use.”

“How?”

She sighs, done, “Sleep, Stiles.”

And so he relaxes and drifts off, with Cora Hale wrapped around his side like a warm blanket. The room is still empty when they wake up, curtains almost navy in the dying light. They end up not going to the Forest that day after all.

 

 

***

 

The ban hits Derek hard. His house isn't content to let him suffer in peace any longer, because this now affects them. So they argue and they yell and they threaten to follow him around until they find out who he’s seeing. They have no chance at succeeding at that, so it's all useless frustration and disappointment. But Derek's had to face his mom, and his dad, and Peter's foreboding silence, and Laura's righteous rage. He has to watch Cora struggle to understand him every day, refuse to really talk to him for weeks at the time. Once you go through that, once you disappoint your pack, upset housemates mean very little.

Quidditch, though. Quidditch helped to deal with things, allowed for a vent and rest. Derek misses Quidditch like crazy, and it's only been ten days.

On the Thursday two days before the game, he's lucky enough to finish detention early. Two seventh year girls have been caught sneaking off the grounds on a school night, so the three of them finish helping Prof. Longbottom early. Tending to the giant pumpkins professor's been preparing for the holiday next week has been one of the easiest jobs Derek's gotten in detention so far, anyway.

Kate might not like he hasn't gone to look for her first, in case she's free, but Derek doesn't even go into the castle. Gryffindor's having practice today and he wants to see how well they're doing without him on the team with his own eyes.

Cora notices as soon as he comes out on the pitch, and he quickly shakes his head, before she can get her hopes up. There are a few observers in the stands below the goal posts the team is using. He heads up there. It's the best spot to watch the practice from.

It's not as bad as he's feared, though Cora keeps forgetting she's not passing the bludger back and forth with Derek and his replacement ends up almost falling off his broom a few times. He's not half bad in his own right. When she's focused, they do quite well.

As the team captain tells off McCall for pulling an unnecessary stunt when he had an opening to score, someone slides onto the bench next to Derek. “What's she saying?”

“What?” Derek looks at the guy squinting at the players. He has a weird feeling that he should know who this is, but he doesn't. The scent, though heavy with Cora, is unfamiliar to him, even if the voice isn't.

“Come on, you can hear them, right? You're a werewolf. What's she saying?”

The sense of familiarity grows with every word, so Derek might be staring a little, trying to place him. “She's saying that scoring is more important than showing off and that she'll forbid all girlfriends and boyfriends to come to practice if he doesn't stop.”

The guy snorts, looks sideways at Derek with an amused smirk. Derek is definitely staring now, because inherit face blindness or not, he doesn't think this guy's face would be easy to forget. “Nothing is as important as showing off for Allison Argent, though. And... you have no idea who I am, do you.”

“Cora's friend?” Derek hedges.

“Ah. The scent thing, yeah. She's mentioned that.” The guy is still smiling, mouth all shiny and pretty, but it has a bitter edge now. “We were in detention once together. You must have met a million people in detention this year, though, so...”

“Ah,” Derek says and gets a skeptical eyebrow in turn. There's still that air of bitterness, so he tries to explain, “Werewolves mostly rely on their sense of smell to tell people apart, especially at first. I don't remember faces well under the best of circumstances, and yours was half covered in, uh, products of your prank. Blue goo of some sort.”

The guy looks quickly up and down Derek's face like that'll help him decide what to do with the explanation. He hums, “And my scent was covered in blue goo, too, I guess.”

“Well, it didn't smell _blue_ ,” Derek says. “but it did cover your scent, yes.”

Stilinski – because that's his name – nods, eyes on the field again. His scent is clear now. Derek breathes it in slowly, carefully, as if to make up for not catching it before. It's a brazen sort of smell, unguarded and loud like his heartbeat, stretched out with anxiety, but still warm. If it was a color, it'd be amber-orange, not blue – and that's a weird thought to have. It's tainted with cleaning products and... paper. Ink and paper.

Which sparks another piece of memory. “Wait, what are you doing here? You're in Ravenclaw.”

Stilinski makes a wide hand gesture. “Spying, genius. And afterwards, I'll take the gathered data to my housemates and they'll believe every word I say and we'll beat you so badly this year. It's a plan of mine.”

Sarcasm has a weird tendency to sound like neither lie nor truth, but it sounds like the complete, pure truth now. Mildly, Derek asks, “Really?”

“Yeah, no, they won't let me anywhere near the team in Ravenclaw. Like I'd mess with that, seriously. First, Scott would kill me, Quidditch is sacred to him and second, I want to watch Jackson Whittemore lose. I want it enough to even cheer for Ravenclaw, if I have to.”

Whittemore is the captain of the Slytherin team. Not the most pleasant guy in the world, but decent competition. Derek feels a pang of regret. He won't be there to help make sure Jackson loses.

“What's he done to you?”

Stilinski sighs in an exaggerated show of offense, “He said my hair was a bird's nest. It was very cruel of him.”

For two long seconds, Derek believes him. His heart is so steady, voice so light. And his hair does look like a couple of sparrows styled it, though that might be the wind. If they continue to cross paths, this sarcasm thing is gonna become a problem.

With a grace that certainly isn't present in any other aspects of his life, Scott McCall lands with his broom on a bench next to them.

“Scott,” Stilinski says, but McCall is looking over his head at Derek, eyes narrowed to slits. He is, unfortunately, one of those Gryffindors who will not be stopped from expressing their opinions by anything. And he's got a lot of opinions on Derek's situation, especially since the ban.

“You back?” McCall demands, all self-righteous and judgmental.

Derek grinds his teeth, “No.”

“I can't believe you!” McCall bursts out. He's been doing that a lot. “We have a game in two days! How can you do this to us?”

“I haven't done anything to you,” Derek tells him. Again. “The team is strong, even without me. Mason is doing fine.”

“But not _as_ strong! We were sure to win, but now... Look, if you'd only get yourself unbanned...”

“No.”

“Derek!”

“Let it go, McCall. It's none of your business.”

“Try stomping your foot down, Scotty,” Stilinski cuts in before McCall can let out a sound from his already open mouth. “That'll show him.”

“This isn't funny, Stiles. Mason keeps almost falling off his broom.”

“He wouldn't be if Cora hasn't been hitting him with bludgers he has no hope of receiving. Which doesn't mean,” Stilinski quickly adds when McCall starts looking around the field, still with that pissed off expression, “you should pick a bone with her now, Jesus, Scott. Let's just go, you have that paper to write for Prof. Bakeley, I said I'll help you.”

McCall throws one more angry look at Derek. He mounts his broom again, turns to his friend. “Get on, it's quicker.”

Stilinski gets to his feet with a snort. “You're sure feeling especially suicidal today. Go, take a shower. I'll meet you in your common room.”

McCall flies away. Stilinski puts his hands in pockets – two of many these muggle pants of his have, actually – and smiles awkwardly at Derek. “Er.”

Derek nods at him, tries to convey how grateful he is for the Scott McCall intervention. And the friendly conversation. Stilinski looks sideways, where Cora is hovering on her broom with a dark glower, gives a snort. “Well, I'm certainly not getting in the middle of that. Try not to put Mason in hospital before Saturday, Cora!”

“Don't hit on my brother where I can't help hear it, Stilinski!” Cora shouts back, but he only rolls his eyes at her and leaves. Cora adds, for Derek's ears only, “Though I guess better him.”

Derek sighs, “You really do need to go easier on Mason.”

“I'm trying! Just...” She's still frowning darkly, but Derek knows this look. It's not anger, it's frustration. She huffs, then narrows her eyes on him. “Hey, have you still got some of those macaroons dad sent last week left?”

“Why?”

She's still, quite literally, hovering on her broom, though her eye roll is as effective as always. “Because I want some, dumbass. Do you have any?”

She's taken to his ban better than he's feared. It makes more sense now, when he's had a chance to scent Stilinski. They're good enough friends that she's used him as a pack-crutch of sorts. It's made her feel less isolated, and it's taken the edge off her anger well enough that she's, reluctantly, letting Derek back in.

“Yeah. Yeah, I've got some left.”

Cora lands next to him, turns to lead the way down on foot. “What was that about blue goo, anyway?”

Derek tells her, for the first time in his life deeply grateful for his sister's attention.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Mason dodges the bludger Cora's hurled in his direction, then drops after the ball. He's developed a healthy dose of fear in the last half-hour and has taken to avoiding the passes he isn't sure he can withstand. It costs them a lot of time, though. Cora's getting more frustrated every time he does it, which ends in even more powerful passes. It's a vicious circle.

“They can still win, it's okay,” Allison is saying, all wrapped up in her winter robes, crimson hat covering her ears. Everyone's dressed like that. It's an icy day. The stands are full anyway, like they always are. The whole castle is out there at the game, and a good portion of Hogsmeade – probably some parents, too. There's not much entertainment this far out north, so people gladly show up even for a school match.

Gryffindor can only win if Liam finds the snitch right now. Their defense is falling apart by the minute. Mason seems to realize that, too, so the next time Cora bats a bludger in his direction, he grits his teeth in the typical Gryffindor fashion and attempts to redirect it. Though he does manage to hit the ball, the force knocks him clean off his broom.

While the teachers and players gather around the mediwizard to check on Mason, Stiles uses Allison's binoculars to keep an eye on Cora. She's not doing so well - if the jerky, aimless way her broom is moving is anything to go by.

A hand touches his shoulder, “Come on.”

Stiles follows Derek through the mass of alarmed people peering down at the field. “Where are we going?”

People move out of Derek's way like he's the Hogwarts Express, but push back in front of Stiles like he's invisible. It makes it hard to follow. After the third time Stiles loses the sight of him completely, Derek grabs his wrist in a tight grip and all but drags him along. It's a tactic so efficient, Stiles can't even pretend he's upset.

On the stairs leading off the stands, he asks again, “Where are we going?”

“To the field,” Derek says, keeps dragging him along even though there's no one but them descending, presumably unconvinced Stiles can keep up. The spectators are almost silent up in their seats, like they are holding their collective breath waiting for the news on the knocked off player.

“Mason's shoulder is dislocated,” Derek informs him once they're out in the open, magically preserved grass green under their feet. The group gathered around Mason is halfway across the field. How good is a werewolf's hearing, anyway? “They'll take him up to the Hospital Wing, he needs to stay still for a few hours after healing.”

“Gryffindor doesn't have another replacement beater.”

Derek's grip tightens around his wrist. He notes flatly, “Well that seems like an oversight.”

“No, I mean,” Stiles waves at the looming sky above them, “will they stop the game if he can't play?”

“They'll stop the game only if a team is left without the seeker.”

The rules of this game make no sense. “How about if all three chasers are out?”

“No.”

“And both beaters? _And_ the keeper?”

“No.”

Cora's seen them, she's lowered her broom to hover just above the ground. Derek lets go of him when they reach Cora, like he's finally satisfied Stiles won't turn and run the other way or whatever. Under the strands of dark hair that's got loose from her braid, Cora's eyes are so bright they're... glowing. Her eyes are glowing.

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathes. “Your eyes are so pretty!”

Cora and Derek both turn to look at him judgmentally. He's kind of missing the point, sure, she can't be in a good place if she's shifting in public. But her eyes _are_ pretty. They're this soft amber color, so stark against her dark hair. Stiles leans forward, props himself on her broom to take a better look. Cora barely keeps them all from overbalancing.

“It means I'm losing control over my shift, dumbass,” she growls. She actually growls, it's low and scary and there are vibrations Stiles can feel in his chest like a mild case of acid burn.

“Learn to take a compliment. What comes out next? The teeth? The sideburns?”

Two hands catch him by the shoulders and detach him from Cora's broom, “How about she shows you her shift somewhere where five hundred other people aren't watching?”

Derek moves around him to take the place next to Cora. “It's better he's out,” he's telling her. “Now you don't have to think about teamplay at all, just do what we do at home and knock them off their brooms. Make sure they're not too far up.”

They've been pointedly avoiding to do exactly the thing Derek's now telling her to do. It's better to play like that than lose control over her shift, obviously. And it's very often the only strategy beaters have when they get out on the field, anyway, even on professional teams Scott's insisted Stiles must read about, so no one can complain. Well, as long as she can contain her strength. And no one breaks their necks, which. It's only a matter of time before it happens and Stiles is forced to witness it, because _Quidditch_.

“We were fine yesterday at practice,” Cora says bitterly, tightly. “We were, it was good, but _you_ didn't see that, did you, in your detention...”

“Cora, calm down,” Derek orders sharply. Her broom is jerking again, though. Stiles presses closer to take a look over Derek's shoulder, sees the way her hands are gripping the handle like her life is depending on it. No claws, not yet.

Derek's got one hand wrapped around the back of her neck. They're close and the words they're exchanging are fast and barely loud enough for Stiles to hear.

“I didn't mean to hit the ball so hard he had to move out of the way!”

“This was your first game without me, it was bound to go wrong. It doesn't matter, Mason is okay, they'll fix him right up and the game is still on. You can still win.”

“No thanks to me.”

If this isn't the tip of the iceberg for her, Stiles would roll his eyes so hard. It's only Quidditch! Who cares!

Cora and Derek both turn to listen to something in the crowd that's impossible for Stiles to catch.

“Okay, we have to go, but you'll be fine, Cora! You can still win,” Derek says again.

Cora generally reacts very well to all sorts of personal contact with him, so as soon as Derek moves out of the way, Stiles throws his arms around her and squeezes her tightly. She hugs him back, tucks her cold nose into the crook of his neck. He's been bugging her to shift so he can see it up close, she never wants to. Now he can feel it against his skin - hair where there shouldn't be any - tickling his ear, teeth pressing against his skin.

“Cora,” Derek admonishes, though he can't possibly see her face from where he's standing.

Stiles hasn't been sure how he'd react when he finally sees her shifted, and he's glad there's no urge to jump away from her. His heart quickens, but that's mostly excitement.

“And if nothing else,” he tells her, feeling happy and flattered like a brainsick person he probably is, “I've still got that chocolate I got last weekend, so we'll lock ourselves away to stuff our faces and I'll tell you an embarrassing story. Now go hurl balls at people.”

She's shifted back while he talked, so when he lets go, it's the Cora he sees every day smiling back at him. “You've been saving that to send your dad.”

“Well, yes, so don't throw the game just because I promised you chocolate. It's for emergencies. Make an effort!”

“Yeah, yeah. Get lost, I've got a game to get back to.”

She joins her team, already up in the air, getting ready to dive back in.

“Come on,” Derek says. Stiles waves at Scott before they head back, who grimly responds. Stiles loves Scott dearly, but this Quidditch thing is a disease. At least it's not as important as getting laid regularly, if Derek is anything to judge by.

They don't go back up to the stands. Derek leans against the wooden structure just inside the entryway, arms folded and eyes on the restarting game. Stiles renews the charm that's been slipping swiftly away from all the moving, and a wave of pleasant warmth envelops him. It's to the day the favorite bit of magic he's learned, because he's got the use for the spell so often. He sits down on the ground, back against a supporting beam across from Derek, legs folded.

Cora's not doing half bad up there - not that he can see what the players are up to so far up in the air. The announcer's voice comes across clear and booming, and he's actually gushing a little at her fierceness and speed. The audience is loud, but Stiles can't make out if they're on her side or not, because down there it just sounds like one long and distant thunderclap.

Sometime later, when Stiles almost forgets about the game he can barely follow, Derek finally speaks up again, “You let a half shifted werewolf at your neck.”

Which, kinda random for a conversation starter.

Stiles touches the place on his neck Cora breathed against, makes a face. “I don't think I'd be able to stop a werewolf get to my neck if I tried.”

Derek looks back at him with a judging set to his eyebrows. “The key word was ' _let_ '.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You make it sound like I took a lollipop from a stranger. It's _Cora_. Not a strange werewolf I came across skipping about in a forest.” Derek keeps eyes on him a few moments longer before he turns his attention back to the game like he hadn't be the one to bring this thing up in the first place. “I mean, is that okay? Did I do some sort of unspeakable thing I wasn't supposed to? She didn't really ask, I guess, but I hugged her, so...”

“No. It's okay.”

Then why the hell talk about it at all?

“Derek. What does it _mean_?”

“It's just a blatant show of trust, that's all. It's nothing bad.” And then, after a few moments of silence. “When she first started Hogwarts, Cora made a friend. Her first one outside of the pack. They met on the train and were inseparable for the first week of school.”

Stiles has a horrible feeling he knows where this is going. “Let me guess. The friend didn't know she was a werewolf.”

“Until someone told her. It wasn't a huge loss, they weren't friends long enough for Cora to develop a pack bond with her. Whatever it was that prompted this girl to back off completely and refuse to even talk to Cora again, aside from the frantic accusations, Cora couldn't feel on that level. But it's left consequences anyway.”

Which explains so much about Cora, why is she so standoffish, why she has – _had_ \- no friends. What's changed? “So why me, then?”

Derek shrugs the shoulder that's not pressed against the wood. “Because she's been feeling cut off and alone and you're apparently the kind of person that will willingly let a werewolf at his throat.”

“I honestly can't figure out if you're angry with me about this or not,” Stiles says after a minute of wondering silently about it. “Your eyebrows say definitely angry, but the words themselves don't sound so bad.”

Confusion replaces the negative turn of those eyebrows. “Angry?”

“Displeased. Unhappy and contemplating violence.” Stiles makes his hand imitate an angry attack, and it comes off like something between clawing out eyes and slapping. “You know.”

Derek shakes his head. “You just need to be careful. Make sure she doesn't force this on you.”

“I'm not sure you can force friendship on someone.”

Derek sighs like dealing with Stiles is tiring. Which it probably is. People have told him so before.

“Being good friends with werewolves usually entails a pack bond. If it goes far enough, you'll be able to feel it, too. Just make sure it's what you want, it'll be less painful for everyone that way.”

It doesn't really sound like something one wouldn't want, but who knows. Stiles doesn't remember them mentioned in the book he's been reading. “Does that mean, like, you become a part of the pack?”

“No. You need to have a bond with more than one member of the pack to be a part of it. That doesn't mean it means less to the werewolf who forged it. We use these bonds to balance ourselves, draw strength, support. Like Cora's used it earlier when we went to see her.”

Stiles grins, happy with the idea. “That's why you dragged me with you. Because now I literally have a supernatural ability to calm down Cora Hale.”

“You also have the ability to hurt her, so...” Derek trails of.

“Yeeeees?”

“What?”

“Come on, you're supposed to list all the terrible things you'll do to me if I do. Televison's lead me to believe it's what older siblings do.” Derek is watching him as if stuck between disbelief and amusement. “This might be my only chance to ever get that talk, even if it's over someone I have no romantic interest in. Tell me you're gonna kill me if I dare hurt her. Tell me you're gonna rip my throat out. Come on.”

Derek's eyes slide to his throat at the suggestion, stay there while Stiles has to swallow to free his suddenly constricted airways. “If I ever get to your throat, it won't be to rip it out.”

 _That's not what he means_ , Stiles promptly tells himself, but it's too late. What else can a statement like that mean, anyway? He's hot around the neck and wants desperately to rub it. His hand spasms against his robe a couple of times.

Derek frowns, like he's not completely sure what that's been about, either.

“So what do I get out of it?” Stiles forces himself to say and get away from that strange moment. “I mean, it's not like it's a deal breaker if I don't get anything, Cora's awesome all on her own, but it's, it just sounds like something that's potentially mutually beneficial. Give and take. Like...”

“To a human, a pack bond helps with healing,” Derek interrupts the babble smoothly. “Health in general. Vitality. Stuff like that.”

Rebalanced, Stiles raises an eyebrow, “Quidditch skills?”

Derek snorts, “Sorry.”

“Damn,” Stiles says, though he's actually wondering if it might help with his attention span. It is a matter of mental health, sort of, right? And that, huh. That actually may impact his flying skills. Not that he'd use them for Quidditch, except maybe when Scott really feels like playing. Still, getting on a broom is an efficient way to travel short distance.

“We lost,” Derek's voice cuts into his musings, and a second later, the crowd roars louder than ever.

“Uh, will Cora be okay?”

“Should be. Why?”

“Because I have to go find Scott. He definitely won't be okay, so, um, you probably should stay out of his way today, if you don't feel like being yelled at.” Derek's quick eye roll says very succinctly how much he cares for Scott's opinion, and since this is Quidditch they're talking about, Stiles doesn't feel too obligated to defend his best friend. He bites on a smile instead, waves, “Bye!”

 

Of course, Scott is inconsolable. Between Allison and Stiles, it still takes a lot of cheering up to get him to even eat lunch. His unfortunate tendency to complain freely about what he feels – in this instance, disapproval of the Hales – puts Stiles in a difficult situation, because he doesn't really want to bitch about Cora.

“She's upset enough already,” he says at one point. “Don't tell her that.”

Scott and Allison do this exchange of looks that's all _knowing_ and playful.

Scott clears his throat, smiles crookedly, “You two have been spending a lot of time together.”

“It's not like that,” Stiles tells them, but they just snicker. If they've brought it up on another day, he would try harder to convince them they're wrong, but at least Scott's paused in his ranting. And Cora and Derek aren't in the Great Hall at the moment.

“Just be careful, or that brother of hers might kill you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, though the conversation with Derek on the subject is very fresh on his mind. “I'm not worried about that, Scott, because Cora's a just friend.”

“Everyone's saying she's been sleeping in your bed, though, it's not fair to let that rumor float around if it's not true,” Scott, bless his cotton soul, admonishes seriously. “But it is, right?”

“She did fall asleep on my bed, _once_ , Scott, where did you even hear about that?” No one's told him anything until now about that afternoon with Cora, he's assumed his housemates have been too scared of her to say anything. He should have known better.

“Uh-huh, and where were you? The Ravenclaws are telling everyone they found you guys in your bed, together.”

“We were fully clothed and on top of the covers, thanks.” Scott glances at Allison before turning his unconvinced face back on Stiles. “Don't you think I'd tell you if I got to that stage of a relationship with someone? _Any_ stage? In, like, great detail?”

“Well, I know she's heard them talk and she never denied it. We thought you were, like, enjoying your privacy for a while. And, uh, hiding from Derek.”

“Well, you thought wrong. And I promise you, the first thing I do, when I do start dating, will not be to invite them to witness the hell that is Ravenclaw.”

“Uh, you might want to spread that around,” Allison says carefully. “There are really a lot of rumors.”

“Yeah,” Scott finally accepts he's telling the truth, “you'll get beaten up without even dating.”

“You're more likely to get beaten up if you keep yelling at Derek about Quidditch, Scott,” Stiles says, deliberately, because they haven't told him about this earlier and now he has to ask Cora what she wants them to do about it. It works like a charm. A well-practiced charm.

“I have to yell 'cause it's his fault!” Scott says, anger switched back on. And so it starts again.

Allison's blaming him for it, Stiles can say from the way she's glaring daggers and swords and arrowheads at him. He stuffs another potato in his mouth, says around it, “Homework. Library,” and flees the scene of the crime.

He doesn't have any homework that needs finishing, so he just grabs a random book on herbology. Warmth charm on again, he finds a spot to sit on the floor and leans against the wall between two shelves. There's a whole section in the book on using plants as wards, which seems to be very popular with squibs. It could be a good idea to use in the garden at home, to protect dad while Stiles is at school. He just needs to find the right sort - one that doesn't require magic to maintain, isn't too scary looking to attract attention and doesn't actually kill anyone who touches it.

“You're never gonna convince anyone you don't belong in Ravenclaw if people keep finding you with a book.”

Stiles blinks away the letters dancing in front of his eyes. “Ability to read, oddly enough, isn't a Ravenclaw-only requirement, Cora.”

She's smirking at him, “Nerd.”

Stiles advises her, “Your insults need some serious work.”

“You still want to go to the Forest?”

Stiles closes the book, looks at her closely. She's taking the loss much better than he's thought she might – it's only been a few hours since the game ended. He gets up to his feet, straightens his wrinkled robe. “Yes.”

“Derek's coming, too,” Cora informs him when they exit the aisle and Stiles can see Derek waiting for them. “Okay?”

Heh, maybe Scott has been right to be worried after all. “Uh, as long as this isn't about that rumor.” Derek quirks an eyebrow, so Stiles hurries to assure him. “Which is just a rumor and not true in any way, okay?”

“Except I really was in your bed,” Cora helpfully supplies. Scott and Allison were right, she does know about it.

“Fully dressed! And on top of the covers! Drooling into my shirt, I might add. Very, um, unattractive.”

Now both siblings turn to give him an identical look of 'did you really just say that?' Stiles sighs, “I can't win this, can I?”

“No,” Cora says merrily, leading the way. “Your heartbeat jerks when you lie, and I can hear it.”

The clouds have grown darker since the game, but it's still dry outside. The Forest, when they come near, is shadowy; the trees so much higher than they look from the castle. When the wind ripples through the branches – branches of non-evergreen trees that should be nearly naked this time of year – leaves rustle a hundred times louder than in that orchard behind the house back home when there's a rainstorm.

Derek leads the way in – he's not wearing his robes, which is a smart idea Stiles has had last time, but has forgotten all about now. And, uh, possibly, Derek should already switch to a new uniform set, because these are looking a little bit tight around his shoulders. It's not fair, Stiles can only tell he's grown out of his uniform when he looks down and can see his wrists naked.

There's a path they can follow, a zigzagging line of dirt barely holding before the weeds and vines surrounding it from both sides. They can only walk one by one. Cora is walking behind Stiles. It's like he's between two werewolf bodyguards - which, in a way, he is. His dad would approve. Well, he would if not for the part where Stiles has willingly headed into a forest everyone calls Forbidden. For no good reason, just curiosity.

Derek sets a pace Stiles can easily keep up with, so he stares a lot. They're not far in, though he's lost the sight of Hogwarts some time ago, but Cora hasn't been kidding when she said the forest was old. Most trees are large, and some are rotting away still standing. There's a thick layer of canopy, with only occasional gaps to see the sky through. It dims the light, makes it a little hard to navigate around the woody debris and fresh sprouts. Which, again, it's late fall and freezing outside. It is only possible because of magic.

Stiles can't keep silence anymore, old freaky forest or not. “So where are they?”

Derek glances back like he's surprised he's not alone, and Cora asks, “Who?”

Stiles waves his hands around. “Animals and beings, spirits and beasts.” Cora laughs behind him. “God, even birds. Where are the birds? Shouldn't they be chirping merrily in the distance?”

“If you wanted to listen to the birds,” Derek turns to tell him over his shoulder, though he looks kinda happy about it, “maybe you shouldn't have walked in with two predators.”

Stiles gapes, “You scared away the birds? Why did you do that? Are they evil?”

“They're not _evil_ , Merlin, Stiles, where do you come up with that crap? They sense us and fly away.” Cora cocks her head, like she's listening. “Or shut up and let us pass, anyway.”

“Okay, no birdsong for me. Or you guys. Like, ever. That's sad. How about cutesy woodland creatures?”

“Well, you're here,” Cora says. Derek, Stiles is pretty sure, snorts.

“ _Anything_ interesting?” Stiles insists. _“At all?_ ”

“A few pooka have been this way recently,” Derek offers after Cora stops laughing.

“Really? How do know? Can you smell them?”

“Yes. They're young, though. Probably just curious about the other side, Hogwarts. A bit like what you're doing.”

“Oh haha.” Stiles is forced to deliver that sarcastic laugh at Derek's shoulder, cause they're apparently taking a sudden break. “They're not clever enough to explore in the company of two werewolves, so what I can tell them about Hogwarts right now is that they would not be sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“That's a shame,” Cora deadpans.

“Yeah. I could use some friends in there.”

“The pooka most commonly use the shape of a horse in front of humans. Isn't Ravenclaw in one of the towers?” Derek points at a mass overgrowth they've been passing by. “This is how you can tell they're been nearby.” It's a huge blackberry brush. Stiles reaches for it and gets his hand slapped away.

“Hey, I like blackberries!”

“Don't eat _anything_ in the Forest, if you don't absolutely have to. Have you got no self-preservation at all?”

“Says a Quidditch player,” Stiles mutters, because Derek is apparently a big hypocrite. “Is there something wrong with them?”

“See how dark the berries are? It's a sure sign the pooka have been feeding from the tree.” Derek then grabs a few and puts them into his mouth. “Only makes them sweeter, actually.”

Stiles reaches for the berries again, too curious to be really annoyed. They are plump and sweet, the sweetest blackberries he's ever had, Derek's right. Rich juice bursts into his mouth when he bites into them. He can't get enough.

Cora bursts out laughing. She's got blackberry juice on her cheek, so she shouldn't judge, if his messy eating is what's so amusing. But she's not even looking at Stiles, she's laughing at Derek. Well, whatever, it has to be a werewolf thing. Or a sibling thing.

“I wanna send these to my dad. Can I? How would I do that?”

“Prof. Longbottom has berry baskets behind the greenhouse number three. Wrap it into packing cloth and instruct the owl not to let it tip over and spill,” Derek explains.

Stiles turns to Cora, narrows his eyes. “You know, you're the one who promised me an adventure and now you're letting your brother do all the work.”

Cora unbuttons the red robe she's wearing over her Quidditch uniform. “Fine. You want a woodland creature, I'll get you a woodland creature. There better be some stew at the other side of this endeavor.”

She's ducking under some growth without further warning, so he's left to yell after her, “Don't kill anything! Cora! If you bring back a dead bunny, I'll cry! And throw up.”

Derek's rubbing his head. “Keep your voice down, you'll bring every hungry being in the Forest on our heads.”

Stiles clamps his mouth shut, feels the blackberry juice drying on his lips. He licks it off before whispering, “She won't, though? Right?”

“You honestly think a colony of rabbits could survive the Forest long enough for Cora to grab one for you?”

Now that he's mentioned it, no. “Maybe they, er, adapted. To the surroundings.”

“In which case they're not something you'd want to pet, are they.”

Stiles kinda wants to pet _him_. He can act all mighty and knowledgeable as he wants, Stiles has seen him helpless in the face of cleaning out fallen leaves from a courtyard and he'll have that forever.

“Has she gone far?” he asks after a minute or so of picking at the berries and stuffing them into his mouth. It's like his palate can't get used to it, every new one he eats is just as sweet and fresh as the first one. There's probably some juice on his chin by now.

Derek shakes his head immediately. “Not at all. She's not running any longer, just... standing there.”

Cora comes back not long after. And she's carrying a snake, what the hell.

“That's not a cutesy woodland creature, Cora, oh my God,” Stiles breathes. But he still goes to her, wants to see. He's never had a chance to see a snake outside of the zoo. It'll be awesome to pet one.

“No, no, stop there!” Cora orders. They're standing roughly in a circle, the three of them, because of the way she's approached.

“Is that a hoop snake?” Derek demands. Cora just ignores him and his half step forward as she throws the snake in the space between the three of them. Stiles flinches back. The snake jerks around, looking for a way to get away and then rises and bends and, ah, that's why it's called a hoop snake. It forms a hoop, like ouroboros, like a child's toy, with the head and tail up in the air, both pointing in Stiles' direction.

Derek grabs it from the other side and throws it high in the air, over the canopy. He turns to Cora, furious, “Have you lost your mind? It could have killed him!”

“Relax,” she answers loftily, “I squeezed all the poison out before I brought it.”

She's grinning maniacally and Stiles grins back at her, probably in the same manner, because, wow. A hoop snake. “That was so awesome! It's not normal, right? Snakes don't do that normally, right? It's a magic snake? Oh my God, it actually started to roll toward me, how can a snake tell I'm not a predator?”

Cora shrugs, unhelpful. “I don't know. Just thought you'd like to see that.”

When Stiles turns to Derek for answers, he gets a dark look. “Pick the berries for your father if you want to send them. We're going back.”

“Fun ruiner,” Cora grumbles, but she looks kind of happy when she turns to help Stiles pick the berries. They store them into his Hogwarts-issued blue hat.

She leads their way out of the Forest, while Derek is holding the back. He goes up to the castle, still in a huff over the snake – or possibly just in a hurry to see his girlfriend - and Cora goes with Stiles to the greenhouses. Prof. Longbottom doesn't ask where they've found blackberries in October. He even casts the appropriate stasis spell for Stiles, so they'll stay fresh for days.

“I won't write you up for breaking the rules,” the Professor tells Stiles when the package is all ready to send. “You at least didn't go alone. But once you send these, I want you to come back here and help. I need to collect mushrooms off the elder trees by the lake, for the Hospital wing, when it gets dark tonight.”

Stiles asks a lot of questions when they go down to the lake, about the warding with the help of plants he's read about earlier in that book. It turns out that most plants, no matter how magical, don't need to be maintained by a magical person. As long as Stiles is the one to plant them, he can pick just about anything and they'll grow just with his dad watering and weeding them. Professor promises to help him find seeds or shoots when he decides which ones he wants.

Cora and Stiles are mostly just standing around, holding their lit wands up so he can see what he's doing, all wrapped in winter clothes and magical warmth. It's barely even punishment, it feels like Prof. Longbottom took them out by the lake for the company. The castle is gorgeous against the black sky, up on the hill, and at least for the day, being at Hogwarts truly is a magical experience.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

On Halloween, Derek helps cut trees for the fires and hauls them up on the hill as a part of his punishment. He's done the exact same thing last year, just because the groundkeeper had asked if he'd be willing to put his werewolf strength to a good use, so that's probably just a way to get the detention done before the nightfall. Everyone will be too busy to supervise later.

Muggleborns and some of the other students, too, wear shiny costumes that don't do anything to cover their faces. The Great Hall is alive with voices and mirth, pumpkins and candles hovering in the air with their bright faces and dripping wax. The effect is great, but it's just what Hogwarts does for the muggleborns, so they'll feel comfortable in what's familiar to them.

Derek is stuffing his pockets full of walnuts and potatoes the elves have put out in wicker baskets on the tables along with the food when Cora comes to dinner. She's carrying her old leather book bag with her, packed just in case. Derek's had to ask Prof. Sinistra is he's even allowed to go out tonight.

Cora demands instantly, “So?”

“She said yes,” he lets her know and she grins happily.

Some students go home for the holiday. At the Hale household, Samhain deems only a small celebration, some fire for the kids to jump over and make a mess of themselves, a potato-based dinner. It's fun, but not enough to go home for. Hogwarts offers all sorts of celebrations – the feast for the muggleborns, with their weird costumes and candy, extra plates have been set at the table and all around the castle to host the ghosts, and there's a bonfire outside for those who have lost someone and want to go through the ritual properly.

When Cora was in her first year, Laura dragged them to the bonfire. It was just to experience it first hand, they didn't go again. Derek is pretty sure he knows why Cora wants to go tonight, though he doesn't call her on it.

He's had to tell Kate he couldn't see her tonight. She isn't happy with him - it'd be a perfect opportunity to sneak around with everyone so busy and running about - but he's free to go. It'll be a good night.

“I made masks,” Cora tells him. “Old fashioned ones, like grandma used to make. I want to do this properly.”

Stiles comes down laughing with Scott McCall and Allison Argent. Scott is wearing a plaid shirt and an obnoxiously red western style hat, Allison has on an old-fashioned dress and a bonnet. Stiles isn't in a costume at all from what Derek can see, though with everyone else so shiny and particular, he's actually standing out in his normal muggle things.

They come to sit down and Cora promptly slaps Stiles' hand over the table, “Don't eat.”

“Ouch,” he glares at her. “Why the hell not? It's the Halloween feast!”

“Trust me?” Cora asks. Just in case he decides not to, she moves the plate he's reached for to the other side of the table.

Allison cuts in, just when Stiles is about to launch himself into his usual two hundred questions per conversation, “You're going to the bonfire?”

“There's a bonfire?”

“We're taking _Stiles_ to the bonfire,” Cora informs Allison over Stiles and Scott's excited exchange of looks. “I made us masks and everything.”

Allison turns to Scott, “We should go, too – do you want to? Don't eat that!”

“Why aren't we allowed to eat?” Stiles is asking, sadly watching a roast chicken Cora is now moving out of his and Scott's reach. “I'm hungry!”

And Scott is saying, “Sure, but why can't we eat first?”

It's like they're twins.

“We need masks,” Allison declares, standing back up. “And sandwiches for later. Take some walnuts! We'll see you there, guys.”

Scott follows her, “Why didn't we go before we found out they're going?”

They're far enough to be out of Stiles' earshot, but Allison still lowers her voice a little, “It's for people who lost someone. I didn't think of it, but it's a good idea, for Stiles' mom? And you should be there for him – but it's also really nice, you can write to your mom about it tomorrow.”

In the meantime, Stiles is asking Cora at the table, “Can I take sandwiches, too?”

“No.”

He turns to squint at Derek. “That's it? No?”

“Take some potatoes with you,” Derek tells him. He probably won't be hungry, anyway, if they manage to pull of the ritual.

“But they're raw.”

“Lucky you'll have an access to a fire on which you can cook them, then. Come on, let's go.”

Stiles is still eying the potatoes suspiciously, but he fills his pockets with some. Cora takes walnuts and a few apples. A little way down the table, Nearly Headless Nick hovers over the bench like he's sitting down. Cora passes him first. Stiles is walking by slowly, staring at the ghost.

Derek leans in to tell him quietly, “Tonight is the only night of the year they can taste food.”

“So every ghost in the castle really is in the Great Hall tonight, huh. I thought I was imagining it.” Cora reaches the scroll they have to sign if they're going out, and Stiles turns completely to face Derek. “Why didn't she want to tell me anything, if it's just a bonfire?”

“Who says it's just a bonfire?”

“Well, what then?”

Cora's taking entirely too long to write down her name. Derek can see in the peripheral vision how stiff her back is. Merlin, she hasn't checked at all with Stiles about this.

“It can be just a bonfire, I guess. But tonight is the night when the veil that separates the dead from the living is at its thinnest. They are lurking close by and we can reach out for them. That's what going to the bonfire is all about. It's to meet up with your dead, just for a little while, if you want to.”

People pass them from both sides, brush against Stiles on their way. Derek is waiting for that stunned, pale look to subdue and Stiles is staring right through him, mind burdened and elsewhere.

“That's not possible,” he finally whispers.

“I haven't done the ritual myself,” Derek admits. “But it is possible.”

“My mom wasn't a witch.”

“She won't be doing any magic.”

“And I'll see her?”

In truth, Derek doesn't know if it's a matter of seeing the dead or not. He's starting to think that this is a bad idea. He touches Stiles' shoulder, makes sure his focus is on the conversation and not on some fantasy. “It doesn't change anything, you understand that? She's still dead. She'll always be dead. This is just...”

“Saying hi. I get it. I can say hi to my mom. Because I'm a wizard. Because I can do magic.” Derek tries to find a hint of how he's doing by breathing in deeply. His scent is impossible to untangle. There's such raw sorrow, like his mom just died days ago. There's also so much fear - but also happiness, and excitement. Slowly, Stiles smiles – and it does reach his eyes, it lights them up. “Come on, let's go.”

“Sign here,” Cora instructs him.

Derek hisses under his breath, for her ears only, “Thanks for that.” She ignores him.

Cora's masks are made of fallen leaves and bird feathers. She charms the deep orange one onto her face, helps Stiles put on the green-yellow one. Derek gets the one made of black and gray bird feathers. All three masks cover just the upper side of the face, just like their grandma used to do them.

“So this is to hide us from evil spirits?” Stiles asks Cora, touching the edges of his mask with careful fingers.

“Yes.”

“What if it's evil _werewolf_ spirits? Won't they smell us coming?”

“And what would evil werewolf spirits want with you?”

“What would any evil spirits want with me, is what I want to know,” Stiles says over his shoulder, ends up knocking into a statue near the entrance and keeps talking like only someone who does that all the time can. “Like, my immortal soul? My grossly underused magic? Tender flesh of my body?”

And now Derek is thinking about the tender flesh of his body, great.

“If it's your ability to walk in a straight line, they'll stay hungry tonight,” Derek says vindictively.

“Or they'll just skip me and go after you,” Stiles shoots back. “Which I'm all for if it gives me the time to run away before they change their minds.”

“To run into the first tree, probably.”

Cora is snickering, though nothing they've said is very amusing. Derek resolutely ignores her.

Erica, one of the three Feral kids Hogwarts has reluctantly decided to let in a few years back, walks past them. Her scent explodes into anxiety just before she says, “Hi, Stiles.”

“Oh, hey, Erica,” he grins back, waves.

Erica pretends she can't feel Cora's glare on her back, keeps walking with her head held high. Or maybe she's not attuned to her senses enough and can't feel the possessive rage that's radiating in her direction. Derek can feel it in his teeth, and fools himself only for a second that all of it is coming from Cora.

Careful that his hands are gentle, he turns Stiles from Erica's retreating back toward their path and pushes him to start walking, “You making friends with every werewolf you meet now?”

“Hmm? Oh, really, Erica's a _werewolf_?” Stiles asked, sarcasm thick in every word. “You don't say.”

“ _Bitten_ werewolf,” Cora supplies, following closely, still rattled.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well that sounds terrible. I shall stop speaking to her instantly, because it means that much to me that the werewolf I spend my time with is born and not, under any circumstances, bitten.”

It's not the time to get into the discussion about the Feral kids and control issues, but Derek makes a mental note to remind Cora to talk to Stiles about it before the next full moon.

“No one said you shouldn't spend your time with her.”

“It sounded a little like you did,” Stiles says tightly over his shoulder.

“Stop being pissed at us over a harmless knee-jerk reaction we can't help. She's a werewolf, we're werewolves – there's gonna be a pissing contest over territory if you put yourself in the middle of that. It doesn't mean anyone's telling you who to talk to and be friends with.”

Stiles' eyes are half hidden in the shadows the mask makes, but he still looks kind of pleased. “I'm territory?”

Oh, hell. Derek rubs his forehead. They're only halfway to the bonfire and he – he's passed up a chance to be with Kate for this. For a night with Cora and this kid - this kid with his million questions.

Cora throws an arm over Stiles' shoulder, traces her scent all over him deliberately and saves Derek from answering. “You're _my_ territory right now,” she informs him and owns up to her friendship by explaining how scent marking works and how she's ready to do unspeakable things to Erica's hair in the name of the turf war and yes, the turf in question is Stiles.

They're joking about it, and Derek's quietly following, feeling vaguely unsettled by the entire conversation.

The fire is already huge when they arrive, flames reaching high to lick the starless sky. There are seven or eight people already up there, including Prof. Bakeley. The smoke is thick enough to cover all scents and the crackling of the burning wood hides most of the noise.

“Back at home,” Cora tells Stiles once they're close enough to feel the heat on their skin, “We jump over the fire.”

He gapes at her, then at the mountain of fire in front of them, mouth carelessly open around all the smoke. “You do not.”

“Sure we do. Derek?”

“It's for protection and cleansing, the fire chases away any spirits that are trying to attach themselves to you,” Derek confirms, then shows mercy so Stiles will close his mouth already. “Of course, we build a somewhat smaller fire.”

“Oh. Can we wait until it mostly burns out? Because I don't want to watch you attempt you jump over that, okay?”

“We'll make a smaller fire in a different spot when Scott and Allison come, since they wanted to be there,” Cora explains. “This one is for burning things you want to let go of, before the long days of night start, so they wouldn't haunt you through the winter.”

“Like what? What kind of things?”

“Like straining, pointless relationships.”

Derek does not acknowledge her.

“Okay, so maybe I'm missing something here, but surely you're not suggesting that your brother should go fetch his lady teacher friend and throw her into the fire?”

“That's exactly what I'm suggesting,” Cora says.

Derek rolls his eyes. “You're supposed to burn a symbol for what you're trying to let go of, like a picture, a note, or a piece of clothing or something like that.”

“Yeah, that makes much more sense,” Stiles says. “Not that I can't see the upside of Cora's plan, just, is seems less likely you'd get thrown in prison if you leave the tossing of a screaming woman into a big fire for a more private party.”

The two of them grin at each other like the joke isn't too dark. They might be not feeling it yet, but Derek can. It's already started, the ritual, it's already putting hooks into their brains, opening them to the magic of the night, magic that is all about the dead.

While they're waiting, they look around to find the right spot. There's a small, even plane with a great view of Hogwarts that's just perfect. Derek's not particularly afraid of the fire spreading – there are protective charms in place he's seen the professors cast that afternoon and there are alarms in case something goes wrong anyway – but it still feels safer to build their fire on the naked rock.

“Here,” he decides.

They bring logs and small branches over there, enough for the fire to last a while. Scott and Allison come up looking ridiculous. They both have shirts covering the upper sides of their faces, with holes for eyes and the rest of the material tied behind like ponytails.

Stiles bends over laughing. “Oh my God, Scott, I'm gonna die, I can't breathe.”

“I know, right? It's awesome.”

Allison shrugs. “We didn't have much time.”

They make a stone circle, align the branches and the logs inside it. Each of them uses their wand to levitate a small portion of the burning embers over onto their spot. It's small and cozy.

Allison jumps first, quick and agile. Cora grins at Derek over the flames, eyebrows up. He shrugs. They do it all the time at home, if she's feeling comfortable enough to show off, well. The fire is tiny, anyway.

They run and jump at the same time, she dives over the fire, head first, intent to land in a roll and Derek somersaults over her. He lands on his feet and turns to see her on all fours, still ginning.

The humans are cheering like they're at a Quidditch game.

“Do it again!” Scott is urging.

“It's your turn,” Derek says, but Scott is pulling off a look that really should only work on one of Nate's kids. “Maybe later.”

Stiles cheers like he's the one who's accomplished something.

“Come on,” Cora says. “Jump.”

They look at one another, shrug. Scott's got an impressive takeoff for a human, but too much of that power goes into the height and he lands almost squarely in the fire.

“Scott!” Allison calls, but he just stumbles out of it quickly. He laughs as she starts checking him for burns. He doesn't smell hurt. It's a small fire.

Stiles frowns at the fire and Derek is suddenly remembering how he walked right into that statue earlier, like it's all he does. He watches more carefully, and it becomes clear as soon as Stiles takes off the ground that it's too early and there's just not enough force. Cora hisses next to him, but Derek moves first. He grabs Stiles out of the air and puts him back on the ground, safe.

“That sucked,” Stiles says, cheeks red from the fire or embarrassment or exercise.

“It's a Ravenclaw thing,” Derek comforts him. “You guys usually jump off a stack of books.”

“Hilarious,” Stiles mutters, but he's smiling a little.

“Hey, how come you didn't fetch me from the fire? I could have burned to death!”

Derek lets go of Stiles to turn to Scott, deadpan. “Because I don't enjoy you yelling at me about Quidditch nearly as much as you apparently believe I do.”

“Aww, man, you'd let me burn to death over that?”

Allison pats his shoulder, “I wouldn't. You were fine, though.”

“I would have been fine, too! It's a tiny little fire, I had more on my sleeve that time in Potions!” Stiles complains, but Allison and Scott coo at each other, Cora is snickering and spreading blankets around the fire and Derek ignores him.

Cora maneuvers Stiles to sit down between Scott and Derek – presumably Scott for friendly comfort and Derek, what, as a safety net? In case things go wrong, his one year of educational advantage will tell him what to do?

He does know how to bake potatoes in the open fire, so he spreads them evenly, not too close to the flames, only exposed to heat. Cora and Stiles add theirs. When they settle down around the fire, Allison pulls out a smallish green glass bottle, “I got this from my aunt,” she explains. “It's supposed to help.”

Scott takes the cap off it, sniffs. “This is – is this alcohol?”

“Don't be a prude, Scott,” Stiles says, leaning close to grab the bottle. “It's only... Oh my God, what is this, this could knock out a troll!”

Allison laughs lightly. “That's why she only gave me a small bottle. Anyway, there's stuff in there that's supposed to help.”

Derek takes the bottle before Stiles can knock himself out on fumes. “Sweetgrass?”

“Is that wizard slang for weed?” Scott wonders.

“It's this, moron,” Cora says, pulling out a handful of dried sweetgrass leaves. “Also known as holy grass, used a little in some skin care potions and throat healing salves, but mostly,” she throws it into the fire, “for calling out to and attracting spirits.”

The scent of it spreads quickly around them, thick and sweet.

“It's like vanilla,” Scott happily notes, eyes closed.

“Stiles, you start,” Cora instructs.

Derek passes him back the bottle, which he takes. “Okay. What am I doing?”

“Take a sip, I meant. The ritual, well, it's – it's not supposed to be something specific, the magic in the air tonight is supposed to be responsive on its own. You just need to think about your mom, a lot.”

“It'll help if you talk about her,” Allison adds.

“Talk,” Stiles repeats, wets his lips. But he doesn't talk. The fire dances between them as they wait, silent. Finally, “What am I supposed to say?”

Derek thinks about it. Pack bonds make grieving different, but it's clear Stiles is finding this hard. Possibly harder than normal. Maybe asking specific questions will help.

“What was her name?”

“C – Claudia. Claudia Stilinski.”

And next, because tonight is all about that, “How did she die?”

“Um, it was an illness. A form of dementia.”

“What's dementia?” Cora asks.

Stiles' throat clicks when he swallows, Derek can hear from where he's sitting. “It's, uh, behavior variant frontotemporal dementia. She changed... Her, it was her brain...”

“How about this?” Scott cuts in, just in time - Derek had been just about to physically stop Stiles from radiating that cloying misery and anxiety. “We trade stories.”

“You don't have to do that, Scott. I'll talk, I just – dad and I don't do it often, it makes us both unhappy, so I'm not sure how to start. I'll figure it out.”

“No, it's a great idea,” Allison says. “Maybe it'll be easier if we exchange stories equally and you don't feel like you're performing in a theater.” Stiles' distress is already subduing, so Derek is all for it. Cora is nodding, too. “But, um, the only person who died in my family is my grandmother and she – well, her portrait – she doesn't like me. At all. And I have no wish to see her tonight.”

“Stiles has to talk about his mom,” Cora says after a minute of silence. “But the rest of us, we're just here for him. It doesn't matter what story we tell, just as long as its...” She gestures helplessly.

“Heartbreaking?” Stiles offers with a small smile.

“Yeah. Sad. And not something you'd just tell anyone.”

Scott reaches out and grabs the bottle to take a mouthful. “Uh, this is nasty. Okay. I'll start.”

Stiles tries to joke, sighs dramatically, “My hero.” It comes off as deeply grateful anyway.

“My mom says, now, that I did magic stuff ever since I was a baby. She'd leave the lights off, they'd turn on on their own; scrapes on my knees healed very quickly, stuff like that,” Scott starts. “But the first time I remember, well.”

“I thought you didn't remember,” Stiles quietly says. “You said you didn't.”

“I know. It not a story I like to tell. My dad had – a drinking problem, mom says, but I don't know. He wasn't around much in the evenings. He did help me study, because I needed the help. I wasn't doing that well in school. He'd get frustrated with me not getting things, but it was never... I mean, he never hit me or mom or anything. Then I finished the third grade and he couldn't that day, so mom went alone to the teacher-parent conference. I wasn't _terrible_ or anything, but something was wrong with my dad that evening.”

Scott takes another mouthful from the bottle, gathering strength. Do these kids ever tell about things that hurt them to anyone? It's not something you can do when you're a part of a pack, too many people have a direct link to your emotions, even if you cover all physical signs of it.

“He saw the slip - the paper mom brought home with my grades and he just, I don't know, he flipped. Yelled at me, like, a lot. Insults and threats. We were upstairs in my room. Mom threatened to call the police, so she left to grab the phone. He didn't touch me, but I was afraid to stay alone in the room with him, so I ran out.” Scott takes another sip, this time more to wet his lips, make a break. “We had this huge, steep stairway. I only managed, like, two steps before I lost my footing and just...” He makes a hand gesture and it doesn't look like 'I fell'.

“You flew!” Stiles laughs, delighted. “You really flew?”

“More like floated like a balloon. Over the staircase. But it was the most amazing feeling. I forgot all about my father and started trying to bounce around, laughing.”

“Of course you did,” Stiles says fondly. Maybe this story explains why Scott is so much into Quidditch, or at least that he's always been inclined to it.

“Then his voice registered. I turned to look at him, in midair. He was – he was practically screaming at me, screaming in terror, all red in the face like he just saw me stab someone to death and mom was yelling at him to stop, she was shaking him. It made me fall right down. I broke my leg.”

Allison is close enough to dig her chin into his shoulder, eyes full of support and sympathy. Scott takes her hand and continues, “Mom grabbed me and carried me out of the house, barefooted, right on the street. The neighbors were already gathering. She told them he attacked us screaming nonsense. The police arrived soon after. He was arrested, later taken into a mental care facility because he kept talking about his son floating around the house. Mom is still talking to his parents sometimes, he's on medication now, jobless. I never saw him again and I don't want to.”

“Merlin, McCall,” Cora huffs. “I didn't set out here tonight to start sympathizing with you.”

Scott blinks away the remains of the memory, smiles crookedly at her. “You decided to adopt my best friend. It was bound to happen.”

“No, I was doing fine,” she insists. “But now I kinda want to meet your mom. Give me that bottle, I'm next.”

Derek leans further against the rock behind him, stretches his leg until his ankle is pressed against her knee. He knows which story she'll tell.

“I don't know how much you'll understand of this, but it's the worst thing that happened in my life, so... It was on my first summer vacation back from Hogwarts. There's – our property basically just opens into one big forest. I went there a thousand times, but not too far in when I'm on my own. I was too young. But when I got back from Hogwarts...”

“You were all grown up,” Derek teases.

“Shut up. I went exploring. There was this abandoned house I found, and I went inside to see better. It was in a bad condition, I guess, and when I stepped on one board it gave in and I fell through to the basement.” She inhales, the memory still disturbing enough to make her heart beat faster. “We actually covered this in Defense. You know magical properties of rowan tree?”

“Warding,” Stiles supplies.

“Yeah,” Cora says bitterly. “Against magical beasts, among other things. Against werewolves. The people who owned the house, Uncle Peter told me later, they knew about us and they were afraid. So they paved their basement in rowan boards, and used it to hide during the full moon. Just in case we all went feral and tried to eat them.”

“It doesn't sound,” Allison says, a little defensive like maybe she knows these people. “Like they did something too bad?”

“What's bad is that they didn't take it apart before they left,” Cora says sharply. “You don't know how – how terrible that was. It's only a three meters drop, but I didn't land right. Rowen warded me in and I couldn't get out of there. I felt weak and sick, couldn't climb, my ankle was hurting. And worse – and the worst thing was, I couldn't feel my pack at all.”

Allison looks like maybe she understands, but Stiles and Scott definitely don't, so Derek says, “The pack bonds allow you to feel your packmates like you can feel your arms and legs. All the time, every moment of your life, you're a part of a net.”

“Is it a physical or telepathic connection? Or emphatic?” Stiles asks.

“Definitely not telepathic. It is emphatic, since we can feel intense emotions of a pack member – like if they got badly hurt, or died, the pack would know it. And it's physical, in the sense that we need physical contact often.”

“You _need_ it. What if you can't get it?”

Cora picks up, “Without physical contact, we slowly grow mad. Feral. But falling completely off the net, like it happened to me, well. I was ready to try and kill myself in a matter of hours. It's like, I don't know how to explain it to you. Like you lose all your senses at once, maybe? You're trying to call for help but no voice is coming out of your mouth, it's all dead silence, your eyes see nothing but shadows. You're cut off completely.”

“How did you get out?” Scott asks, leaning eagerly forward, like he's hearing a great adventure tale. In a way, he is, seeing that it's obvious Cora is good and alive now.

“My mom found me. The rest of the pack, they'd only sense if I was badly hurt or if they were focusing on me specifically. Too many people connected, you know. So no one noticed for a while. Then mom came home from work. She couldn't feel me, yet there was no sign of the bond breaking, like it would if I was dead. So they looked and they found me. I know it doesn't sound all that bad, but those few hours I spent on my own, completely alone... That was the worst thing that happened to me.”

Derek remembers clearly her face when they got her out. Mom's sister, the only human in the pack at the time, had to get down to get Cora but she's not physically strong. It took a while. When Cora was finally out, everyone reaching to touch her, she was crying like he's never seen anyone crying, in relief.

“I'll go next,” he says to shake off that memory more quickly. Cora passes him the bottle. The liquid is a burning sweetness on his tongue, and he thinks there might be a pinch of wolfsbane in the concoction. I can't say I've ever lost anyone - not anyone I can summon on a night like this. No one I can personally invoke enough feelings to summon. But we've had losses.”

Now Cora shifts, presses into his ankle.

“Next year, our cousin, Malia, will come to Hogwarts. She's our Uncle Peter's daughter, the only child. But not for the lack of trying. Over the years, Violetta, Peter's wife, was pregnant four times – so they lost three children before they were born.”

“The last time was when I was ten. It was still early on, just four months, so the pack couldn't feel the baby. But it's different for Peter. Violetta was upstairs in the room, resting. She was always resting, because the healers couldn't do anything, didn't know what else to try. Most of us were downstairs in the living room. Nate was helping mom in the kitchen, Peter was at the table, trying to teach Malia to play chess – it wasn't working very well, she was still young, but it was keeping her entertained.”

“Dad had dragged Laura and me out to look for mushrooms,” Cora adds.

“All of the sudden, Peter just stopped talking. Malia was calling him, but he wasn't responding. By the time we clued in something was wrong and looked up, she was already crying – screaming, shifting uncontrollably. Nate got to her first, not realizing at all that she was only reacting to Peter. He took her away, to the basement, where we have a safe place for – bad moments. Only when Malia was away, we realized that something was wrong with Peter.”

Derek isn't sure how to explain, so he wets his lips and swallows.

Cora says, quietly, “I remember that howl.”

“Broken heart and impotent rage, mom said later. He threw the whole table so hard it smashed into little pieces and he jumped across the room howling such grief I thought we were all dying. Mom knew, she didn't even go to Peter, she went upstairs. Violetta was unconscious, just out of the bed, bleeding – the house reeked of it for weeks. She lost her baby, and Peter sensed it. I've never seen anything like that again.”

“They stopped trying,” Cora adds. “For another baby - they stopped.”

“And Peter's changed. He's more distant now. Even to Malia – especially to Malia.”

“That's awful,” Scott says somberly.

To distract himself, Derek feeds the fire. It dims a little under the weight of the new log, less blinding. It's only for a moment, but he sees it – the smoky, liquid shadows all around them in the air, looking in, listening. It's an odd feeling, to know something is there but only be able to see it.

“It's working,” he says. “Keep going.”

“Okay, give me the bottle,” Allison holds her hand up for it. “Do you remember, last year when we were making datura based sleeping potions, and I asked Harris to go to the hospital wing? It's when I put the pieces together, it's been bothering me ever since.” She drinks deeply from the bottle. “My mom, she's been doing better lately, but when I was younger, she acted – weird, sometimes. She'd stay awake for days, then couldn't get enough sleep. She wouldn't eat, she'd feel tired all the time, sometimes annoyed for no reason.”

“Sounds like depression,” Stiles tells her.

“She never went to see a healer for it,” Allison shrugs. “I think – my grandfather didn't approve of it. It would make us look weak, whatever the hell that means. I remember waking up one night – I was maybe seven or eight. I found her in the kitchen, a glass full of this white liquid in front of her. I thought it was milk. She didn't hear me come in – she didn't care to notice, that's how bad...”

Allison sniffs, keeps her tears at bay. “Like I said, I thought it was milk, so I took the glass and started drinking. She reacted then, knocked it out of my hand – though I stopped drinking after the first sip anyway, it was very bitter. But the concoction she made was so strong, they had to take me to St. Mungos instantly. It was that same datura based sleeping potion, only brewed so strong, she was never supposed to wake up again.”

Datura based sleeping potion for suicide is an odd choice. It needs to be very strong to kill a human. It is, though, one of the few plants that werewolves have a higher sensitivity to since it blooms in the moonlight.

“She was different after I got out from the hospital. More cheerful, normal. I guess the accident woke her up a little. Anyway, there it is – I almost died because I got in the way when my mom attempted suicide.”

She offers the bottle to Stiles. He takes it, frowning, says clearly, “Dementia is a condition people usually develop in the old age – when they're over sixty. It affects memory, language, understanding, judgment. Sometimes, it also causes changes in mood and personality, paranoia and hallucinations. My mom had all these symptoms, and they appeared in roughly that order. But she got sick in her early thirties. She started forgetting things first – names and events, faces, words. It was enough to get her to hospital, but... There's no cure. Her brain just kept declining, rotting away and the symptoms kept developing. Mood swings and aggressive behavior. And then, when she was already permanently hospitalized, paranoia and hallucinations came.”

He's talking quietly and quickly, looking at his hands, like he wants to get it out as fast as possible and pretend no one's listening. “She thought – she believed people wanted her dead. Every time...”

He sighs, voice shaking, “No, that's a lie. Not people, _me_. Just me. She was convinced I wanted her dead.”

No one says anything, Derek thinks probably because they feel the same way he does – powerless and confused. He's been trying to keep track of Stiles' heartbeat, but it's a chaos in there, it's uneven and unpredictable. It doesn't tell him anything.

“I don't know what I did to make her start thinking that, I was eight then. At first, it was just an obvious silence whenever I came to visit, weird looks. She was trying not to give into that paranoia, I guess. But it didn't work, so she started begging my father not to take me along when he comes to visit. I don't know, I...” He rubs his eyes, and Derek can smell tears he smears on his hands. “After a while, she started to react badly if I dared to go into her room, she'd just take one look at me and start trying to get out of her binds, trying to escape or fight back, screaming at me to leave her alone. I only got to see her after she'd had some infection complications and slipped into a coma.”

“The worst thing is, that's practically all I remember of her. The illness. Helping her find the right word to express herself, explaining a cartoon in a hundred different ways because she couldn't understand the story. The screaming. I want to remember my mom the way she used to be before, but I can't. There are just glimpses.”

Stiles stops talking, and it feels abrupt. Like he cut himself off. But the magic is done, or nearly done. The shadows are closer, not so reluctant to come near the fire any longer.

And then it happens.

A long shadow separates from the night, wraps itself around Stiles' head. Derek can barely see his face through the smoky specter.

They all react, drag themselves closer to him – Scott even puts a hand on Stiles' shoulder. But Scott can't hear what Derek and Cora can, they can't smell it – but this is working out. Stiles' scent is almost completely clear of all the anguish and pain, his heart is evening out. It's still a rapid beat, but it's not unhealthily disjointed.

“'S okay, Scott,” Stiles whispers. “It's her. I'm okay.”

That's all he says. They can see him smile and mouth words in a silent conversation through the dark, floating mist. It goes on for a bit. They wait in silence.

The thing finally lifts from his face to show them the smear of tears, but it doesn't go back into the night immediately. It slides down Scott's arm toward his head, then to Allison's. “Hi,” Cora says breathlessly when it wraps around her head for a second before it reaches Derek.

It's a presence made of warmth and gratefulness, it seeps directly into his brain, touches him and leaves him back to the chilly night. Then, with one last brush with Stiles' outstretched hands, it raises like smoke into the sky.

They've done it. They've performed the ritual.

Cora is trying to hide her tears, but Scott and Allison cry like babes. To distract them all from crying – or pretending they're not, he says, “You need a pensive.”

“Oh!” Allison says, wiping her cheeks. “Yes, definitely. To put in the good memories of your mom.”

“I told you,” Stiles says. “There's barely any.”

“You've never used one before, I take it? It's to see beyond what your subconsciousness's caught, too – like, you put in a vague memory of your mom making you a sandwich, but once you're inside to see it, you get what she was wearing, how she smelled, what day was it, all sorts of details,” Allison explains. “You have to request it from the mediwizard, I think. And use it with supervision. But still, it'll help.”

Stiles nods, then grins shakily at Cora, “Can I eat now?”

She scrunches her nose, “You really feel like it?”

“Well, no, but I know I missed dinner, so I should eat, right?”

Derek touches the potatoes. They’re soft, so he tells them, “These are done, anyway. We should eat them while they're hot.”

So they distribute the food – Allison brought sandwiches for everyone taking into consideration werewolf appetite. Peels go into the fire, so do walnuts. They eat and chat about nothing at all, and his family maybe isn't completely right for not doing this properly. It feels strangely liberating.

Some walnuts pop open, some don't – Derek doesn't pay it much attention. They're all too young to get married in the next year and the practice is silly, anyway.

The moon's long set when they finally put out their fire, the last one on the hill. It's nearing dawn and Derek isn't sure where all the hours went. Maybe the dead borrowed some of their time.

It's the last weird thought he has that night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Halloween thing is a mixture of things I read, things we do here on a similar holiday and imagination.


	4. Chapter 4

For two days after Halloween, Stiles is vibrating with emotion. He spends hours writing to his father, sentence after sentence of insufficient explanations and otherworldly feelings that'll only make the man fear for Stiles' mental health. He doesn't send all that, just bits and pieces he carefully chooses from the walls of text.

It's perhaps a little cruel, to tell dad that Stiles had a chance to connect with his mother for a brief minute when it's not something the man will ever be able to do. But who else is there? Who else might understand how much this means to Stiles?

“Stilinski, for the last time, stop waking me up!”

Damn it, the sound-muffling spell wore off again. Stiles redoes it without acknowledging the protest – the last time he's pointed out that he can't control tossing and turning, they dissolved into a huge fight. It'll dawn soon, anyway.

He leaves his bed with the first light, even though he doesn't technically have to get up for two more hours, and goes to the library. The librarian isn't up yet, but only the restricted section locks down, so it doesn't matter as long he doesn't try to take any books without signing for them. He made that mistake his first year, and the high pitched alarm that goes off is deafening.

He settles down with a book on ancient Samhain practices and rituals. He wants to find out if there is a spell to actually talk to the dead, even if it's for a few minutes. It seemed like it had been so easy the other night, her presence was so powerful and distinct. He felt enveloped in her love, swallowed by melancholy and homesickness. That might be what's most important, but he still tried to talk - to use his words, to hear her voice.

Erica finds him in the same spot Cora and Derek did last week, all the way in the back, sitting on the floor against the bookshelf with his mind completely submerged into the contents of the book he's reading. He doesn't even hear her before she's sinking to sit down against the opposite shelf, a shy smile on her face.

“Am I bothering you?”

He looks at the page number to remember it, and closes the book. “Nah. What are you doing up this early?”

Erica raises an eyebrow, “I could ask you the same question.”

Eh, the Slytherins. You can tell them apart from everyone else just by their inability to answer a simple question without putting a price on it first – usually, the price is an equal amount of information in turn. Or as much as they can get away with.

“I get up as early as I can get away with, especially when I'm having a restless night, because I bother my roommates when I turn in bed too much.”

“Why do you care?”

Okay, that's a new perspective. “What do you mean? I have to care, they hate me enough as it is. And they yell at me when my muffling wears off and I wake them up.”

“It's your bed, your dorm room – basically your home for now. If you can't sleep, then you _can't_. If they're bothered, well, magic is only forbidden in the hallways. Have them work for their peace and quiet.”

“I don't want to make them any angrier than they already are.”

Erica sighs, like he's the most frustrating individual in the world, “You have quite a few Gryffindors firmly in your corner, including the Hales, which is the most powerful alliance you could have made at Hogwarts these days – both literally and politically. You shouldn't be the one to cower in fear.”

Stiles smiles a little, thinking about all the times he's had to talk Scott out of walking up to the Ravenclaws with the intention to give them a piece of his mind. And that time Cora almost ripped them all to shreds. “I don't want to use my friends as a shield, Erica. I'm not that helpless.”

“Eh, pride,” she says with a distaste.

“You say that like it's the worst trait ever in a human being.”

“It's the most useless one when you're fighting for yourself. It just gets in the way of using all the tools you have at your disposal.” Stiles is pretty sure pride is pretty expensive in Slytherin, but he doesn't point that out. It's an Erica thing, obviously. “Anyway, so just take time to learn some good wards, then. Most that last longer just need a wardstone .”

Erica is in the fourth year, with him, and _actually_ fourteen years old. How does she know this? “We don't learn wards until the sixth year.”

“Maybe you don't, but we learn them as soon as we start Hogwarts. Most learn before that, actually. The Slytherins are reluctant to give the instructions on how to reach the Great Hall, and they have much more important secrets to keep, lingering since before the war. It's one of the most valuable skills one can have in Slytherin, being able to keep others out of your possessions.”

Now that she mentions it, “You're just full of helpful suggestions and not-negotiated information. Weird, for a Slytherin. Should I be expecting the bill?”

She blushes so fiercely, it takes him completely by surprise. “If you really must, consider it as payback for the fact you didn't even flinch when I sat down close by. It happens so rarely, I can't help but be grateful for it.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, who knows if I really belong in Slytherin?”

“Um, the Sorting Hat?” Stiles offers. “The magical item made for the sole purpose of determining which house people belong to?”

Erica looks away, shrugs, “I never put it on. I was never sorted. They just placed all three of us in Slytherin.”

“Why?” Stiles wants to know, baffled. He'd never heard of that happening. “Who are the other two?”

“Isaac and Boyd,” Erica says with a distinct air of _'who else, dumbass?_ ' “The last two werewolves in Hogwarts you haven't befriended. Yet.”

So she considers herself his friend. Stiles smiles, warmth spreading in his chest. “I'll get right on that.”

She snorts, “Good luck, then.”

“But seriously, why weren't you sorted?” It can't be that because of the werewolf thing they're all automatically Slytherin, because Laura, Derek and Cora have all been in Gryffindor. Or maybe the Hat can't read werewolves so they put them in the most convenient place?

“I don't know,” Erica says, then looks up without lifting her head much, all coy, “Officially. They never told us. But even in Slytherin, secrets slip through if you listen.”

Stiles leans forward eagerly, because she's made it sound so interesting, “Please tell me you mean to elaborate on that.”

“From what I got – mostly from the rumors they sometimes forget I can overhear – there are a lot of bitten werewolves in the pureblood families. It was one of the ways the Dark Lord tried to keep them on his side – back when he had that guy who could make the Wolfsbane Potion with him. They were afraid of losing control over themselves on the full moon, so they followed him and in exchange got the potion.”

“Do you think it's true?”

“I do, at least the part that a lot of them are well familiar with werewolves. They're not as afraid as the rest of the school and they know how to act around a bitten werewolf. To show their necks in submission when they are confronting a pissed off werewolf, not to touch our things, don't try to grab the food that's in front of us. It's small stuff, but it's obvious.”

Stiles isn't sure about other facts, but one thing all werewolves he has met so far have in common is their striking desire not to be feared. At least while the moon isn't full, Stiles can do that. He can be not afraid, and he can be accepting and he can have all these friends.

“So, you care to teach me some wards?” he asks.

Erica digs up her wand with a smirk.

 

*

 

After that, Erica takes to sitting in class with Stiles. She doesn't seem to mind his occasional twitchiness, or the urge to ask questions and discuss everything. And no one else suddenly doesn't seem to mind, either, when Erica is so openly friendly with him.

Cora hates it. Stiles appreciates that she doesn't say a thing, and is kind of amused by the amount of shoulder slapping and close-quarters sitting that she insists on. And he's glad Erica doesn't ever try to scent mark him that way. As awesome as she is, Erica has the strength of a true survivor Stiles can't relate to. Cora, on the other hand, shares his inner longing to be needed and cherished. While his compulsion comes as an aftereffect of coming from a broken home, for Cora, it's probably because even in a pack, you can feel overlooked in a family of so many children. If Cora needs him to smell like her, to have some scentful proof of their friendship, well - that's easy enough to give her.

And it doesn't hurt it makes him feel all sorts of special.

Neither girl protests the other one, and while Scott and Allison are getting unbearable with their meaningful looks, Stiles is quite happy with his developing friendships. And his wardwork. In fact, between the herbology based wards he's been looking into for back home and the things he's picked up from Erica lately, he thinks this might be something he'd be interested enough in to get into after Hogwarts.

Erica is showing him wand movement for one of the few of her wards he hasn't yet mastered while they're waiting for Prof. Bakeley. They are in an old Divination classroom, all the way up in the North Tower. There are no standard desks, and they are all forced to sit down on little pouffes around circular tables. The heavy drapes are pushed to the sides to let the little sunshine there is inside and help students navigate the over-cluttered classroom.

Prof. Bakeley climbs through the trapdoor flushed and lacking breath, like she's had to literally beat old Prof. B in a race for the teaching spot today. She's nice, nicer and more approachable than other professors, but she is also just on the verge of being too awkward for a teacher. It doesn't exactly fill one with confidence... though it's not like she doesn't know what she's talking about. At least when compared to the books, she's never given the students an information that's incorrect.

“Sorry, I'm sorry I'm a little late,” she says, careful not to knock anything off the shelf she's passing. It's full of old teacups. “We have to start on the magic practices of the Ancient Greece today, it is a rather large section that will definitely show on your finals.”

She spreads some papers, marks some things – possibly attendance. She looks up, opens her mouth and then closes them for a few seconds, like she's having a problem deciding where to start. Finally, she says, “There are three elements of magic the Ancient Greeks used, as best as we can tell nowadays. The first is the use of the wand – or another focal tool, such as a staff. As we know today, there is a wide variation of tools we can use to focus magic – circles, altars, pillars, knifes; it largely depends on the purpose of the spell.”

The rituals Stiles has been looking into for a chance to talk to his mother all involved drawing a circle, which he connected in similarities with what they did at Halloween – a fire contained in a circle, surrounded by a wider circle of people and stones. He just never thought the circles itself are the magic conduit – possibly best suitable to the purpose of summoning the dead.

He makes the note to read up on this.

“The second element is the use of a magical herb. Many of the potions we cannot imagine our life nowadays without are based on concoctions from the Ancient Greece. They mostly used herbs in the simplest ways – in teas, or burned, without much mixing,” Prof. Bakeley is slowly making a circle around the classroom, and they're all turning to follow her the best they can. “The third, and the most controversial element, is the presence of a divine figure, often there as a source to the knowledge behind the spells.”

“Or to serve the wizard who summoned it,” someone cuts in from the Slytherin side of the classroom.

Prof. Bakeley looks startled, “Sorry?”

A pale, long-nosed boy straightens up at the attention. “My grandfather has the original Magical Papyri.” A few people hiss, he blinks and hastens to add, “It's a collectible item, of course, approved by the Ministry, not that we would ever use it.”

Prof. Bakeley smiles indulgently, “I doubt very much it's the original, but it may as well be one of the earliest copies from the time when it was rediscovered in the seventeenth century. Regardless, the Papyri covers the darkest use of a contact with a divinity there is – one where a wizard summons it to bind it to his will instead of a simple gathering of knowledge or in a plea for help.”

Stiles raises his hand. “What, exactly, is a 'divinity'?”

He's thinking still about the Halloween ritual. Prof. Bakeley gives him a baffled look. “What do you mean?”

“Like, is it a spirit, like a ghost? Or it's an angel? Or a demon?”

“Ah,” Prof. Bakeley nods, “You're muggleborn?”

Someone snickers in the back of the room, but Stiles ignores them after a quick annoyed glare. “So what?”

“No, I am, too, that wasn't meant to be insulting. I simply recognize the thought pattern. You have to take into consideration, Mr. Stilinski, that the magic practices we are talking about are older than the Old Testament. What these people knew about the divinities was that they were superior in every way from humans; they recognized them as Gods. Whether the monotheism later recognized these begins as manifestations of their God, as angels or demons, well, it's probably a matter of their experience with them.”

“So they're not good or evil?”

“I suspect they are just like humans in that regard – every single one an individual with a set of personal characteristics that sometimes include kindness and empathy, and sometimes not. We don't know for certain, because summoning of these beings is a practice long forgotten,” Prof. Bakeley gives another smile to the Slytherin boy. “The rare remaining manuscripts and instructions, such as the Papyri, do not provide the sufficient information to reproduce the summoning spells - though yes, some indicate that it is possible to enslave them to the summoner's will and use their otherworldly powers for personal gain. This magic is likely very dark and all the known attempts at recreating the spells ended in death and madness, so it is probably best that it's lost to us.”

Stiles is relieved she's not talking about ghosts and spirits of the dead, since that is obviously the magic still widely used among the wizarding folk. Still, it is one of the more fascinating lectures he's had so far at Hogwarts.

“However, a lot of the common spells we use today, just like the basic potions, originate from those times, and we have a good reason to suspect, from these divinities. We will cover the magic of the Ancient Greece by going through a list of magical focal points, plants and the spells we know for certain were used back then and we'll connect them, as much as possible, to their upgraded, evolved variations that we use today.”

The rest of the lecture is pretty much just that, a long list. Prof. Bakeley promises they will come back to each of the items on it and that she's only using this form now to make it easier for them to sort them out and revise later on, but it still makes the rest of the hour very dull.

 

***

 

Derek's pocket warms up over the pie. Cora looks up at the reaction he can't hold back, looks around the teacher's table with narrowed eyes. Kate is good with passing notes. Derek tried to convince her to teach him how to spell a piece of paper directly into someone's pocket, but she only laughed.

Still, his pocket is warm with Kate's magic and he needs to read the message.

“Derek,” Cora says, like she can feel something. “Where are you going?”

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

Her nose flares, but Derek isn't lying, technically. He just doesn't mention what he needs to use the bathroom for. And it's not really up to her.

He ducks into an empty stall in the nearest boys' bathroom. Kate's note says, _'Making rounds. Find me?'_ and he sets it on fire and flushes the ashes, though he's sure she'd have taken all the precautions.

Hogwarts is too large and Kate could be anywhere, so Derek has to start at a point and make his way from there until he catches her scent. He goes downstairs first, to the dungeons. Damp in the walls itches his nose and stings his eyes. After about half an hour, he climbs the stairs to try the level above. The only fresh scent there is an unfamiliar, hormone-laden mix coming from one of the empty classrooms.

Two teachers and three couples later, at the bottom of the North Tower, Derek finally finds her. He hears a noise first, a distant conversation. Descending the stairs to reach the people below, it's Stiles' scent he distinguishes first. Kate's joins in a little later - she hasn't been there as long.

“...every day for a week. With me, Mr. Stilinski.”

“For a week? Over a practice ward?”

“It was only a matter of time before you got someone hurt. You're in the fourth year and you've been playing with magic that is well above your level.”

Derek is close enough to see them, and he catches Stiles rolls his eyes at Kate. “It's not above my level if I can do it.”

“Your little game here,” Kate hisses at him, all professionalism disappearing in the face of the dismissal, “burned my arm.”

Derek blinks, surprised. He can't smell a wound on her, not a trace of blood or burn.

“It zapped you! As it's supposed to! It's a ward, if it couldn't keep people away, then what'd be the point? It works perfectly.”

“That's twenty points for being out of your robes,” Kate says coldly, unimpressed. “Thirty points for using magic in a hallway, fifty for arguing with me and one hundred for attacking a teacher. And don't forget your detention, Mr. Stilinski.”

She's glaring at him, expectant. A sour taste forces Derek to swallow and halt his approach. _Don't be stupid_ , he thinks but that doesn't stop Stiles' open face set into an ugly sneer.

“And how many to point out that that it's the weekend and we're allowed casual clothes and that _you_ of all people have no room to make comments on how other people dress, anyway?”

“Fifty,” Kate says. She's smiling. It's somehow even uglier than Stiles' sneer.

“And to tell you that if you'd been any good at your job as _the teacher of defense_ , you would have been able to sense and dismantle a mid-level ward like that before it _zapped_ you?”

“That would be another hundred, Mr. Stilinski. Plus another week of detention with me.” The warning bell echoes the hallways, informing everyone that Ravenclaw house's collective points are now in the negative. “Anything else?”

His mouth works a little, before he settles on a furious, “Nope, I've said all I wanted.”

But it doesn't feel like they're done. More like the both of them are about to draw their wands, which is a scary thought. Kate would get in trouble if she cast an offensive spell on a student, even after everything Derek's been doing to keep her safe, and Stiles would get expelled.

“Prof. Argent?” Derek says, finally stepping off the stairs and on the stone floor at the bottom. “Is everything okay?”

They both startle at the sound of his voice, but it thankfully stops their staring contest.

“Everything is fine, Mr. Hale,” Kate says, voice icy. “I'm going back to the Great Hall now and I suggest you both do the same. My office, Mr. Stilinski, tomorrow morning at six. Don't be late.”

It's an outrageous time for a detention, but Stiles nods his head wordlessly. Kate walks away, through a doorway toward the Entrance Hall.

“She gone?” Stiles asks after a minute of tense silence. Her steps are now barely within Derek's hearing range, and she's moving swiftly away. He nods. “That bitch!”

It's like a slap in the face. “Don't say that. She's a teacher.”

“She's – she...” It's like Stiles can't find a word bad enough to describe her, so he stops to look for it. His face is deep red and his hands are shaking. His entire body is shaking, actually, and he reeks of stress and fury. “It only zapped her a little. She's not actually hurt. And even if she was, I didn't attack her, she walked into my practice ward! Any normal teacher would take twenty for magic in the hallways and be done with it!”

“That – well, it can happen. She maybe overreacted, but she's not a bad teacher.”

She's really not. She's been teaching students how to incorporate wand movements with close quarters hand-to-hand fighting, which is like something straight out of the Auror Academy. Everyone loves Kate's classes.

Stiles laughs, harshly. “If someone would only change the name of the course to Practical _Offense_ for Muggle Girls Armed with Short Sticks _,_ she'd be great. Wand-katas and martial arts are awesome and all, until someone shoots a wide-range stunner at you and you don't know how to erect a shield quickly enough. It's useless if it's not just one of many skills in your arsenal.” Derek can barely follow that tongue-twisting rant, but he's pretty sure he hasn't been expected to, anyway. Stiles is rubbing his forehead, eyes tightly shut. “Where am I going to sleep tonight?”

That's a weird place for the conversation to turn to. “What?”

Stiles is pacing in uneven steps, both hands pulling on hair in – what, frustration? “This was hard enough – and did she bother to ask me what do I need to practice wards _for,_ anyway? I'm supposed to do what? Sleep with one eye open? Go on a no-clues scavenger hunt every time my housemates want to study – which is _always_ \- and that's okay, it doesn't matter I really _can't_ sit still for hours, why did that demented, idiotic hat put me in that insane place? When I find it, I'm gonna set it on fire! I can't function there!”

Derek can smell a hint of salt in the air and is unsure what to do. He doesn't want to deal with Stiles crying. Behind the wall of the thick scent of distress and fury is still Cora's friend, _Derek's_ friend, and there is a protective rise in him that he cannot afford. Not when Stiles' conflict it with Kate.

Derek has to calm him down, somehow. Kate has overreacted. Derek has seen kids actually hit teachers with stray, offensive hexes and walk away with barely a detention.

He's not sure how, though, so he asks, “Where could you function?”

“In Gryffindor! With Scott! Or anywhere where they don't turn common room _and_ the dorms into a library day after day, I'm not picky! Anywhere where my housemates won't do just about anything to get rid of me for a few hours!”

Surely that's an exaggeration. The Ravenclaws aren't known for their empathy, sure, but what Stiles is describing is shunning. Derek frowns, “Maybe they're just afraid you'll pull another prank?”

“I only started pulling those because it was the most harmless possible way to show them I'm not defenseless! So they'd back off! It's been working, too – they've mostly left me alone this year. But now? I can't even – how many points was that, two hundred, three? No, it was four hundred at least. Crap. I'm gonna have to beg Scott to let me share his bed. Should be fine, as long as no one tattles – but they won't, right? Gryffindors like me. I spend more time there than in Ravenclaw anyway.”

He does? “You do?”

Stiles glares at him. “Yeah, Derek, yes, I do, and I have been since I started being friends with Scott, which was, like, on my third day here. Maybe it's better you don't notice, I guess. No one does, that's probably why they aren't sick of me yet. But I'm sure to exhaust my luck now, aren't I? By Christmas, I'll be sleeping in an abandoned classroom somewhere, I can see it already.”

He's breathing too shallowly, almost like he can't quite fill his lungs to their full capacity. That protective reflex kicks in again, makes Derek step closer, put a hand on one of his shoulders, “Stiles, you have to calm down. You're not breathing right.”

That just earns him another one of those rough laughs and a wave of a hand that seems to indicate his lungs. “It's been wrong since mom.”

Derek's fingers wrap tighter around his shoulder without a thought. Anxiousness is so thick in Stiles' scent that it makes Derek want to whine. He has to fix this before he does something really stupid and at the worst possible moment. There's Kate to think about, as well.

“If your classmates didn't like you already, no real damage is done. And it's only two weeks of detention. Calm down.”

Stiles takes a deep breath, turns a little so he's facing Derek. His face is draining redness everywhere except where's he biting his lips. Derek's shoulders unwind as his scent lose some of the sharpness.

A hand sneaks up, wraps around the ham of Derek's robes. “You know what, Derek?” And the breath that hits Derek's face is a moist sort of sweetness that quite unexpectedly sends Derek's heartbeat into an uproar. “You're telling me all the wrong things.”

Derek glances up from the long fingers turning white against the dark material of his uniform, tries to breathe evenly. Stiles doesn't look angry, with his wide eyes, but Derek still feels like he's walking a thin line. He feels almost – almost threatened, which is one sure way to make his teeth itch on the verge of the shift.

“What?”

“Complain to Sinistra, Scott would say. Tell your Head of the House. Write to your dad. You're being bullied, Stiles, and it's wrong and Prof. Argent is supposed to help you, not punish you when you're just trying to protect yourself.”

“It is wrong,” Derek says – he actually growls - but it goes unheard. There's an unearthly glow on Stiles, like he's in the middle of a ritual, as if this line of thought is making his magic manifest as a protective layer on his skin.

“It's not _me_ you're trying to protect here, so... I mean, it has to be. It's _her_?”

It sounds like a question, but a white hot panic flares up Derek's spine. He's grabbing and pushing and Stiles is against the wall with a thud and a pained grunt.

His growl goes even lower as he says, “Shut up.”

Bright eyes blink away the pain and Stiles breathes, “It _is_ her. The one they found you with. Fuck, Derek, you've the worst taste.”

“Shut your mouth,” Derek repeats. How could he slip up so badly? He's kept this from his family, from Cora, from _mom_. How can this kid just figure it out like this? He's so fucking distracting, Derek can't even control what he does and says around him. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“She's a horrid, possibly psychotic bitch, I know that much.”

Of all the people at Hogwarts, for these two to get in a conflict like this... Derek forces as much menace as he can gather into words, “If you breathe a word of this to _anyone_...”

“She'll get fired and I'll have a nifty revenge while barely investing any effort into it? Yeah, I know exactly what will happen if I tell anyone.”

“Stiles...” Derek growls again and they're both vibrating with it.

“No!” There's no room for him to struggle, but Stiles is all of the sudden desperate to try. He digs his short, blunt nails into the soft flesh of Derek's wrist and neck. “We're not really even friends! You don't get to ask – to demand anything of me!”

“You're friends with Allison,” Derek desperately reaches. “You think it's gonna be fun for her, if this gets out?”

“You're an asshole! Stop trying to force me to blend with the stone, it's fucking painful!”

Stiles sinks until he finds his feet again when he eases off a little, but Derek doesn't dare let him go. “Promise me. Promise me you won't tell anyone.”

Stiles looks away and without his eyes to focus on, Derek is left with nothing but the cloud of their combined scents. He has to make an effort to do nothing but breathe through the surprisingly overwhelming salacity of it.

  
“I don't want to make that promise,” Stiles says quietly. His voice is hoarse. “For my own good, as well as yours.”

And Derek has to let go, though he wants to less and less. There's no way to force this decision, it's low of him to try. The urge to sink claws into a problem and slice it out of his life is sometimes overwhelming and he should maybe try to explain it... No. There's no need for Stiles to hear that.

Instead, Derek says the same thing he's said to his mother, “I'm capable of making my own decisions.”

“Don't worry,” Stiles says with a bitter snort, bending over to pick up his wand which has been lying on the floor for some reason. “If I do tell, it'll be just for the personal pleasure of seeing her get fired. Nothing to do with you at all.”

He leaves Derek next to the staircase pillar with warding runes chalked in, without a backward glance. Derek thinks he should still go and track down Kate, as she hasn't sent him a message with a change of plans, but he'd rather follow Stiles and try to salvage that tentative friendship they've been building.

He goes for a run instead.

 

*

 

 

That one evening that Derek doesn't have detention because there's a teachers' meeting and no one is free to supervise, Stiles comes through the portrait with hands full of library books, takes one look at him and walks right back out, mouth twisted. It's been happening for days now, but tonight is so obvious even McCall can't miss it and he looks angry enough to bite Derek's head clean off.

“What the hell have you said to him?”

“Nothing,” Derek snarls. He's barely stopping himself from following Stiles and pinning him down until he makes the decision and either tells on Kate and Derek or promises to keep it a secret. This constant worrying is an agony.

“He has the right to come and visit me if he wants, okay,” McCall rants on. “You can't forbid him that!”

“I haven't!”

Scott has stopped yelling at him about Quidditch, which was a welcome change. But with the fallout with Stiles, this has been inevitable.

“Then why is he avoiding you this entire week, huh? And running away like that, like you're – like you’re gonna eat him!”

Like the werewolf that he is, right. Derek rolls his eyes, “I don't know, why don't you go after him and ask?”

McCall sends him another cutting glare, but leaves the common room through the portrait hole. The rare free evenings are starting to be more bother than they're worth. Next time, Derek just might hide away somewhere where he can actually rest.

“You did something, though.”

Derek raises eyebrows at Cora, but she fixes her skirt without looking at him.

“Like what?”

“I don't know. But I can hear your heartbeat, remember? And it went into overdrive when you saw Stiles just now. _Before_ he turned and left. Something's happened between the two of you.”

“No.”

“Did he ask you out? Did you say no? Were you an asshole about it and now it's awkward?”

Derek turns to stare at her, at a loss. “What – why would you think that?”

“I don't know. I was sure he was, like, completely smitten with you. And then _this_.”

“He didn't ask me out, Cora,” Derek tells her, feeling even more guilty. He knows how people get when they develop a crush on him - Stiles has never acted that way. There was sometimes a physical reaction, which is also not rare for him to scent on people, but that's all he's ever noticed. But what if Cora's right? Shit. Stiles has been so hard to ignore even without knowing that.

“Then what happened?” She insists.

“I haven't done anything to him.” It feels like a lie, a little bit, because slamming someone against a wall has to qualify as _something_ , but Cora doesn't call him on it. “And I certainly didn't say he couldn't come to our common room after that fiasco last week. I don't know where McCall got that.”

She shrugs, leans back in her chair. “Scott's upset because Stiles has barely been by lately. He won't really talk to us and - it feels kinda weird without him around here.”

Derek remembers Stiles claiming he's spending a lot of time in Gryffindor, but he doesn't have any memory of him doing so. He's not around the common room enough to tell the difference, so Cora surely knows better than Derek if and how much time Stiles has been spending in Gryffindor, which means... He hasn't been around here.

“So where has he been staying then, if not here?”

Cora scoffs with an eye roll, “In Ravenclaw? Where the Sorting Hat put him?”

Derek is confused enough not to acknowledge her mocking tone. “Aren't they mad at him?”

“Not more than usual, I guess...” She's frowning, until her mouth falls open. “Oh hell, it was him? He lost all those points last week?” Derek nods. “I mean, I thought he _might_ be, but he hasn't said anything and he usually rants about stuff like that forever. What happened?”

“He hurt Prof. Argent's arm,” Derek says and again, he feels like a liar. This time Cora catches it, raises her eyebrows, so he amends, “I mean, she said she was hurt.”

“Did she go to the hospital wing?” Cora asks skeptically.

“No. It was just, she caught him doing magic in the hallway. He was practicing wards and she walked on one of them.”

Cora is looking at him like she can't believe his heart's been steady through that sentence. “That doesn't sound like four hundred fifty points to me. Maybe if he tried an Unforgivable or three...”

“They got in an argument, actually. I don't know. I just overheard it. But I know he said he'll have to ask Scott to sleep up here because his housemates would be pissed, but if he's been less around here lately instead of more, then...”

Cora catches on, “...Where he's been spending all his time?”

“Maybe the Ravenclaws don't know it was him?” Derek suggests after a minute.

“I think they'd blame him anyway. You don't know how they are, I wanted to shred them like fine linen when I saw how they treat him – and we were barely even friends back then.” Cora says. “But whatever, that doesn't change that when he did come, just now, he took one look at you and fled. Something happened between the two of you. You might as well tell me, I'll find out anyway.”

“Yeah, you go do that,” Derek dismisses her.

“I guess I'll start by asking him,” Cora decides spitefully, and makes it to follow McCall through the portrait hole. She changes her mind halfway through, turns back. “Derek, just... tell me you don't want to – tell me you're not interested in him that way. I know you have your – _whatever_ she is - so just tell me plainly you're not interested, let me hear the truth of it in your heartbeat, and I won't bother you about it, I won't push it any longer.”

Derek has been a little confused lately, hasn't even noticed her pushing anything on him. But he knows enough to be sure that his heart would not be able to stay even on that denial. So he looks away, says nothing.

“I thought so,” Cora breathes, and leaves the common room.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

Stiles hasn't been back to Ravenclaw since the incident. There's no point in going through that. Scott would worry and Cora would rage, so he hasn't told them anything. There are countless niches and rooms at Hogwarts no one really uses, especially at night, and his transfiguration isn't half bad. It's getting better and better, even. The other silver lining is that he's actually sleeping better when he's alone in a room, warded up neatly.

So he goes through the day as normal, sticks even closer to Scott and Cora whenever he can, and to Erica in classes he shares with Slytherin. He's only alone at night.

Kate – he can't call her by her title any longer, not when he knows about her and Derek – has only signed him for five days of detention and sent him to the groundskeeper to serve them. It seems like she's been backtracking a little, but Stiles has been dreading going to her class anyway, convinced she'll keep taking points. She's careful to be professional instead.

There's no indication one way or the other, so he isn't sure if Derek's told her Stiles knows and she's careful because of that. He doesn't think she's really sorry, either way, but he'll take it.

He's got defense with the Gryffindors, which is tiring. They're mostly nice to him as a general rule, but where is that drive for physical exercise coming from? No matter how many hoops Kate puts up, they can and want to jump through more.

Kate explains one more time to a beady-eyed Ravenclaw how not to hurt her spine when she tries to roll on the ground before she comes to correct Stiles' pose.

“Stay behind after we finish, Mr. Stilinski,” she says pleasantly, with an almost-smile on her face. He doesn't trust it, doesn't trust _her_ and wants to run away, but nods instead. “And let your right leg fall further back, you'll get more leverage that way.”

She's right, he is more stable in his new pose, but that just makes him dislike her more.

People pour out of the classroom, sweaty and chattering noisily. He stays behind, patiently waits as Kate cleans up and levitates the mattresses against the back wall with lazy, practiced moves of her wand.

“Is the interest in warding a Ravenclaw curiosity or do you have a reason to practice them against the school rules?”

She's trying hard to seem interested and friendly, but Stiles doesn't miss she also doesn't waste the opportunity to remind him of what he's done wrong.

“I have a reason,” he says.

“Trouble back home?” she suggests lightly.

Stiles almost drops the wand he's been clutching. “At home? With my dad? No! No, things are good at home, that's not it.”

She hums, and he isn't sure she believes him. It doesn't even matter, as long as she doesn't make trouble for his dad over some half-cocked theory she hasn't bothered to investigate for. Everyone knows Stiles has problems in Ravenclaw, even Prof. Sinistra. Kate Argent hasn't bothered to ask a single question before coming up with this abused-at-home shit.

“As you pointed out, I am the teacher of Defense, Mr. Stilinski,” Kate says. “So whatever your troubles are, I should be the one to teach you to defend yourself. If you want me to.”

He doesn't want her to. She's trying to mend their relationship so he wouldn't report her – for the overreaction or the affair with a student, or both - and certainly not out of the goodness of her heart. He can't say no, though. He can't make a permanent enemy out of her. So he forces himself to loosen the grip on his wand, relax.

“Okay, sure.”

Kate smiles. Bitch or not, she really is beautiful. Derek isn't going through all the trouble for nothing.

Stiles pushes away the sting of jealousy, telling himself firmly to stop thinking about Derek right away. He's let it go too far as it is, between the Forest walk and the Halloween ritual, and he _knew_ better. Now it just hurts.

“I have a few wards in mind, useful depending on the situation you're in,” Kate says, sits at her desk and nods for him to come closer. “The first one has a paralyzing effect, and you will need to incorporate some foxglove into the wardstone you use for it, but it's great as a long term solution – like for example when you're protecting your room. It's well worth the fine for the use of magic outside of school.”

Stiles quietly seethes. What she's saying is that she hasn't believed him and that he needs a magical protection against his father. He doesn't comment, because it sounds like an awesome solution for if he ever dares to go back to Ravenclaw.

“The other is more to embarrass than really stop someone in their tracks, so it's better for protection at a, say, school. It contains an element of evanesco, which we use runes to focus on trespasser's clothes.”

The irritation dispels a little as Stiles imagines his roommates trying to approach his bed and end up completely naked. Or even better, someone in the common room.

“We can practice that rune later and I'll let Prof. Longbottom knows you need foxglove for a project in Defense – one we set up to help you make up all the points you've lost, perhaps? It's a highly controlled herb because it's poisonous. For now, let's go through the wand movements.”

She takes her wand out and they settle to practice.

*

Technically, students in the third year and up can go to Hogsmeade every weekend. It didn't use to be like that, the times were darker and danger always loomed over the young wizards and witches; the students were allowed to go to Hogsmeade only on those few weekends most of the teachers could come as well to protect them.

Now only the first and the second year need escort, and the weekends like this one are a big deal for them. Hogsmeade is even more crowded than usual.

Scott and Allison have plans at that tacky ancient teashop, but they insist Stiles should walk down with them to the village. Cora catches up with them when the castle is almost out of sight. She's not even out of breath, and she's bareheaded with the scarf carelessly tied in a low knot. Stiles itches to redo his warming charm at the sight of her.

“Derek can't come,” she says moodily.

Stiles would rather they don't talk about Derek, but he can't stop her.

Scott snorts, “That's not new.”

“No, but Nate's birthday is in three days. We are supposed to get him a present together, and now I have to do it myself. I suck at picking presents.”

“Let me guess,” Stiles says. “Nine times out of ten, you go for Quidditch equipment and not everyone appreciates that.”

She nods, doesn't even look embarrassed. “Nate loves Quidditch, though. He appreciates it plenty. It's just, he gets to play so rarely, none of his equipment needs replacing and he's already got extra sets anyway. Derek was supposed to help!”

Scott and Allison, not feeling obligated to include Stiles any longer, are whispering something together and can't take over the Derek conversation for him.

Oh, well. “Well, did he have any ideas?”

“No. He said to just buy him a book, because that's always his solution to the problem. Not even Uncle Peter always wants a book, let alone Nate.”

Stiles laughs, “Is that how your entire family is with presents shopping?”

“No. Mom and dad always try to get us something personal. It's a hit and miss, but they try. Peter's gifts are weird and obscure and mostly sit in the attic, where no one has to tiptoe around them. Nate just gets chocolate for kids and brandy for adults. Laura's presents are the worst, I swear she just walks into the first store and tells them to wrap something up for her kid sister. Last year, she got me one of those dolls charmed to tell stories from The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Even Malia is too old for it!”

She sounds so adorably frustrated with her family. “At least you get a bunch of presents. I get, like, two. One from dad and one from Scott and his mom.”

“Well, it'll be more this year, won't it?”

“I'm not sure yours will count, Cora, you'll get me Quidditch gloves or something.”

“For your information, seeker's gloves are the warmest, most comfortable gloves money can buy and you'd love them – but I was thinking omnioculars, since you're already good with warming charms.”

Stiles knows about omnioculars. They're expensive. You can use them like a camera to record the game, then replay parts you want in slow motion, and you can zoom in a scene from across the field. They're heavy and old-fashioned looking, but they can be used for so much more than watching Quidditch games.

“Okay, that's not bad thinking,” he admits, because even seeker's gloves sound appealing, let alone omnioculars. “Now just apply it to Nate.”

“I tried, he's got everything I thought of. What would you give him?”

“I haven't met him, but... Probably brandy. Chocolate, if they won't sell brandy to you because you're too young.”

Cora huffs, “What, like in revenge?”

“If that's what that he's always buying, it's either because he really doesn't want to bother with presents or he just buys what he'd like to receive. If it's the first, then sure, give him a taste of his own medicine – he'll catch up after a few years. And if it's just because he'd like to get that stuff, then even better.”

“I might just do that,” Cora says, making it sound like a threat.

Just around the corner from the first house in Hogsmeade, a large group of second years is having a huge snowball fight – against Prof. Longbottom. He's losing badly and with less elegance than his war hero status would suggest, but they seem to be having a lot of fun.

According to everyone, Hogsmeade is blooming with business and new families moving to it. It's the only entirely wizarding village in the country, the only place where you can freely take your wand out and spell the mud away if you stepped into it; the only place where you can charm your shopping bags to neatly float after you four feet from the ground as you try to contain your dazed-eyed children. It's been growing since the war, and now the streets are almost as crowded with merchandise as Diagon Alley.

It's another place Stiles' father probably won't ever see.

Scott and Allison tag along for a while, enter shop after shop with Cora and him. They look over a variety of stuff not one of them has any idea if Nate Hale would like for his birthday or not. It's kinda fun.

They still haven't got anything picked when Stiles sees Kate turning the corner behind the Menagerie, almost stepping over a used books peddler. She's supposed to be looking after the first years today. No one expects a teacher to literally keep them in sight all day – they're eleven, not six - it's still a little odd she'd just leave the village, and there's nothing beyond that shop.

Stiles makes a quick excuse about needing to use a restroom. Cora's too preoccupied to catch him in the lie, so he slips from his friends easily. He follows Kate as she makes her way downhill, toward... Yeah, it can only be Hog's Head Inn. The place is apparently nicer than it used to be, but it's still all-in-one Hogsmeade equivalent to Knockturn Alley.

Kate doesn't turn to check if anyone's following her. Stiles keeps a good enough distance so he wouldn't look overly suspicious anyway. He is not the son of a cop for nothing. She runs up a line of uneven, stone-cut stairs, pulls off her hat and gloves before opening the door. Stiles waits for a few minutes before following inside.

Unlike other wizarding bars he's been to thus far – the two of them in total, not that much for reference – Hog's Head is quiet inside. The drapes are half pulled over the windows, dimming the atmosphere to a discreet sort of hum. People sit at their tables, murmur together or stare at their drinks. It's pretty full, but the only person Stiles recognizes is Kate. She's made her way to the backside of the large room. He sits as far away as possible while still keeping her in sight, at the bar.

“You lost, kid?”

Oh, right. Shady bar, fifteen-year-old Hogwarts student in his uniform.

“I, er, heard a lot about this place up at the castle. Just wanted to see what it's like.”

The bartender raises distrustful eyebrows at the weak excuse but doesn't question him further. It's probably why this nefarious place is so successful. “The tamest thing I've got is mulled wine.”

There goes a good chunk of dad's monthly supply of fine, magically-made, fruit flavored chocolate. Stiles nods, “That ought to warm me up.”

The wine is bitter even with the sugar and spices, possibly homemade. He's got to force it down, but it does warm him up. Kate is still alone while he's pretending to look around with an overly enthusiastic interest.

Finally, an older man comes in and makes his way to Kate's table. He'd be completely uninteresting, if not for the way people react to him – some nod respectfully, some even get a shadow of disgust and fear on their faces as he passes them. But everyone seem to know who he is.

Stiles turns to the bartender, “Who is that person?”

“Gerard Argent,” the bartender says easily, wiping a glass with a, quite frankly, not very clean-looking rag. “He used to be an influential political figure, before he went to prison.”

Argent. Kate's father? Maybe even grandfather. Stiles wants to ask what he went to prison for, but the bartender's been summoned to the other side of the bar, so he has to wait.

No, better yet, what he really needs to do it get close enough to overhear the conversation. If they don't have a privacy ward on or something. Even if they do, he wants to get closer, see from their body language if they're just catching up or is there something more wicked going on.

He gets up, with his warm mug of mulled wine in hand, and makes his way around the bar, to stay out Kate's line of sight. It's risky, all she needs to do is turn around and he'll be in trouble. Gerard gives him a slight frown when he slips into an empty table nearby and then promptly dismisses him.

He's close enough to hear the conversation, though, so he sips his wine and wonders if the bartender would let him come in here to study sometimes. For some reason, the place seems perfect for it, despite the dim light.

“Chris still refuses to talk to me,” Gerard tells Kate.

“He should be grateful you're willing to talk to him,” she says. “After what he's done to you...”

Gerard waves her off. “He's my son, even if he's always been weak. Anyway, I need him. The Ministry seized all my money, and with the taint on my name, I can barely borrow some.”

“I have money,” Kate says.

“How much can Hogwarts pay a teacher? No, that's not enough for what I've got in mind. I need Chris.” Kate doesn't argue. “It's all that bitch's fault. She's cost me my entire fortune, and my reputation. I lost ten years of my life!”

“I know, father.”

He doesn't seem to hear her at all, eyes on something – _someone_ – far away. “Talia Hale, with her countless pups, making her own _justice_ in the wizarding world. The things the papers printed during the trial, it all came from her.”

“She should be punished,” Kate adds. Her voice is quieter than Gerard's, but just as convinced.

“She _will_ be punished. I'm having some trouble right now, but make no mistake, I _will_ get back on my feet.” The more heated his speech, the lower his voice gets. Stiles doesn't dare look at Gerard Argent, but all the hair on his arms are standing up as he carries on. “And I will make that bitch howl in pain as I rip everything she holds dear away from her and crush it under my feet.”

Kate doesn't say anything, just leans back in her seat, takes a sip of her drink. Like one of those things Talia Hale holds dear isn't sharing her bed on occasion, isn't suffering punishment in her place. Stiles has never really thought it's some sort of epic love that makes Derek so stubborn to protect her, but he's been convinced that Kate at least likes him. Even that she likes him a lot, if she's willing to risk her job for an occasional tryst. But now it seems she might be using him to get to his family.

She might even be trying to _hurt_ him directly.

Stiles keeps listening, but Kate distracts her father with some Ministry gossip. After a few minutes, he decides to leave before she catches him. Not even the bartender seems bothered with his very unsubtle, very awkward backtracking around the bar, where he leaves the mug before hurrying outside. They're used to all sorts and levels of shady in that place, even his own, clumsy brand of it.

Cora doesn't buy his story about getting sidetracked by alluring and curious book titles he's seen on his way, and she hasn't settled on a present yet. Scott and Allison are off somewhere, doing coupley things. Stiles doesn't mind one bit spending the rest of the day with Cora, not even the hour she spends in the Quidditch supplies store.

On their way back, he finally tells her, “I need to talk to Derek.”

She's pleasantly surprised. “You ready to forgive and forget?”

“No, but I need to talk to him anyway.”

“And you won't tell me what happened between the two of you?” He doesn't say anything. They've had this conversation already. “And you won't tell me what this is about, either?”

Since it's so closely related, he can't. He offers, “I feel bad about it?”

It's in part why he's so angry with Derek. He hates lying to Cora, it feels wrong, like lying to his dad.

And then there's the fact that he got hurt last time he talked to Derek. Actually, no, that part is fine – Derek thought he needed to protect something by using force, enough force to push Stiles against a wall and bruise his arm. It's his problem, though, if he thinks physical violence can accomplish things.

It's Stiles' problem – and a source of his anger – that he didn't react to it the way he was supposed to – the way Derek _meant_ him to. He didn't get afraid, he didn't fight back. He didn't _want_ to, because in a weird way, it felt good to have Derek so close, even under the circumstances.

So as soon as it was over, he felt like a victim and a weakling and a fool. And yet he still hasn't said a word to anyone about Derek's secret, because... Because as helplessly angry as he is at Derek for even daring to ask him not to say anything, things would still be worse if Derek was angry with him in turn.

It's pathetic, that's what it is.

Derek still doesn't deserve for Kate to use him as some sort of tool of revenge, especially not after she's been stupid enough to get caught doing illegal shit and he got himself in a world of trouble to cover for her. Sure, she hasn't been the one to rave about making Talia pay. She hasn't been protesting, either. Derek probably won't think much of it, but Stiles believes it's more than enough to require a warning, at least.

“Can't you please tell him I really need to talk to him?” he asks Cora. “And not to rip my throat out when I do?”

Cora scoffs, “Like Derek would _ever_.”

Stiles insists on it. If he keeps reacting to displays of violence with – arousal, instead of fear, he'll condition himself to always react that way and that'll lead to... Unhealthy relationships and broken bones. There's a pamphlet they distribute at his dad's workplace about it.

Cora promises to talk to Derek.

 

***

 

 

Derek is finishing an assignment for Potions when Cora comes back from Hogsmeade. She's made her way straight up to his room, filling it with the scents of winter and all the people she's brushed against that day, still lingering on her. She comes to stand over his bed with arms crossed and a furious scrawl.

“I have a message for you.”

Well, that sounds ominous. “Okay?”

“It's from Stiles. He says, if you agree not to rip his throat out, he'd like to have a talk with you.”

Derek inhales, but aside from the layer of Stiles' scent that is nowadays always mixed in with Cora's, he can't sense him nearby.  
“Where is he?”

“That's not how it works,” Cora says testily. “You agree first.”

He rolls his eyes, though there's a small pool of dread in his stomach. “I agree not to rip his throat out.”

“He's in classroom 17, the one we used for history two weeks ago? The one with weird muggle boxes?”

An open space, where there are people, would be a better sign. Stiles is seriously expecting him not to like the conversation. So this is it. Stiles hasn't said anything to anyone about Kate for so long, Derek's started to relax. He should have known better.

“Yeah, okay. Right now?”

“Go,” Cora nods, so he puts his shoes on quickly, decides the uniform is enough and he doesn't need the cloak. “And Derek, seriously, we're actually really good friends now, okay? Try not to mess this up even further. For me, and for yourself.”

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

Cora laughs at him. “You're an idiot. You did something to make him ask for a promise you won't physically attack him before he'll agree to be in the same room with you alone - doesn't that tell you just how huge of an idiot you are, Derek?”

It does, actually. But, “He's not afraid of me.” Far from it, if Derek's nose is still in a fine working order.

“I didn't think so,” Cora agrees. “I don't know what his problem is. But, Derek, what I know is that he's not a werewolf, he doesn't know much about us and I'm pretty sure he's the type to hold an epic grudge. You need to pull your head out of your ass and fix this.”

Derek leaves her there. What will Prof. Sinistra do when she finds out, anyway? Will Derek be let out of the detention if he's not the one to tell her? Should he just go see her straight away?

The classroom seventeen is one of the old Muggle Studies classroom on the first floor. Derek descends six floors without realizing it, nerves unsettled.

Stiles actually looks surprised to see him, but he is waiting where Cora said he'll be. “I didn't think you'll come.”

The signs of spending time out in the cold are more obvious on him than they've been on Cora. He's taken off his cloak, at least, and piled the rest of the heavy winter gear on top of it, on a desk near the door.

“You're the one avoiding me,” Derek points out.

“Right,” Stiles says, tapping fingers against one of the muggle boxes Cora has mentioned as he walks around. “I'm wondering who did this.”

“Did what?”

“Brought all these old computers here. There're no keyboards or monitors, just these, and I wonder who brought them here and what were they trying to accomplish. Show and tell? Magic powered electronics?”

Stiles lifts himself up to sit on one of the desks in the back, looks at everything in the room that's nowhere near Derek.

Derek walks through the aisle and leans on the desk just opposite from Stiles. He breathes in shallowly, carefully, like when he scents his pack for the first time after a long semester and it's threatening to overwhelm him. It's a weird technique to use right now, but Derek has to ground himself, both because he's dreading the conversation and because he remembers all too clearly what Stiles smelled like the last time they talked.

There's a faint presence of a dozen people still clinging to him, tainting his scent with an unpleasant cacophony, and Derek has to push away a sudden bright urge to cover them all up.

“Okay,” he says in a deliberately patient manner. “Let's talk about Muggle Studies projects and... electronics.”

The smile Stiles attempts is more like a muscle cramp, but at least he's looking back. Really looking, eyes flying over the features of Derek's face like he's got something written across it. The classroom floods with an extra layer of fright and distress.

“Sorry. It's just. I'm pretty sure you'll be mad at me, so I'm procrastinating.”

“You want to tell Prof. Sinistra about Kate,” Derek says to get it over with.

Stiles frowns like he isn't completely sure what Derek is on about. “Um, no. No. Why would I ask to talk to you if I wanted to do that? You'd just try to force me not to.” His eyes widen. “Do you think I'm trying to blackmail you here?”

“I wouldn't try to force you,” Derek grits out. “I don't see why else you'd want to talk to me, that's all.” Blackmail is a possibility, sure, but it's somehow never even occurred to him. “I don't see why you didn't say anything in the first place.”

“You don't?” Stiles asks. He sounds almost offended.

“No, Stiles, I don't.”

“It's really simple - you didn't want anyone to know. So I didn't tell anyone.”

 _But why would you care_ , Derek is tempted to ask, only there's Kate to think about. He doesn't want to be this kind of person. He wants to be loyal. He wants to not be tempted. So it's better if he doesn't know for sure.

Stiles still doesn't look like he's about to start explaining his reasons for asking for this conversation, so Derek prompts, “So why were you avoiding me?”

“Why _am_ I, you mean,” Stiles corrects, rubbing his neck furiously. “It's still – this is an exception, okay, I can't...”

“Right. _Why_?”

“Because.... I hate that you can hear when I lie, by the way, that is so not fair.”

“Stiles.” He's procrastinating a procrastination.

“It's because I'm angry with you for asking me not to say anything. And I'm furious with myself for going along with it. And I'm just about ready to hurl a curse at Kate Argent, whatever the consequences.” He's starting to smell like that volatile combination of emotions as his voice raises, so it's like acid at the back of Derek's throat. “It helps when it's only one of the three of us in the room, because then there's only one person I can be angry at.”

“Yourself?”

“You, actually.”

That's... better than to be angry with himself, surely. Everyone's angry with Derek nowadays, so what is one more person?

Stiles isn't pack, though. This should hurt less.

Derek contains the sigh. “What did you want then, Stiles?”

Stiles immediately starts fidgeting, the rhythm of his fingers pressing into the edge of the desk he's sitting on jerky and loud. “Okay, just, remember, you can't get mad. Well, I guess you can, you _will_ , but don't take it out on me or something, okay? I don't want to tell you any more than you wanna hear it.”

“I'm not going to hurt you!” Derek growls, annoyed.

“Well the last time I got you angry, you slammed me into a wall! I'm sorry I'm trying to avoid another trip to the hospital wing where I have to lie to the mediwizard about how my elbow became one giant bruise!”

Derek crosses the two steps between them, refusing to feel guilty about this. Stiles is hardly defenseless, no matter how much he sounds like it.

His muggle style clothes is too loose to determent where he's keeping his wand, so Derek taps him down quickly, forearms, tights – no, he remembers seeing him take it out - there it is. Derek digs his hand into the back pocket of Stiles' pants and yanks the wand out. It earns him an elevated heartbeat, a sharp twist in the scent and a yelp from Stiles, but none come from fear.

“That's not how I imagined a guy groping my ass for the first time would go.”

Derek removes Stiles' right hand from the edge of the desk and slams the wand in it, ignoring the remark. “A stunner won't work, if you can't put enough force into it, which you probably can't. You need something that doesn't rely on brute strength, something that can trick my senses, something that will disorient me.”

Stiles wraps his fingers around the wood, but doesn't look ready to use it on Derek. “Would poking you in the eye work? Because I'm an expert on that.”

“I'm serious! If you're afraid,” and he's not, the little shit, so what's he playing at? “then _protect yourself_. You have the means, just choose a spell and aim your wand.”

Stiles looks down at the wand in his hand, twirls it between his fingers like it's a toy. “I've, uh, read someplace,” he says, quietly, “in a book, that the best thing you can do if you confront an angry werewolf, the best things is to just...”

Derek can see it coming, but has no time to back away before Stiles is tilting his head sideways, to the left. They're breathing together now, almost in sync. Derek is hyper aware of everything – the heavy desire they both reek of, the vulnerable and sweet stretch of the skin on Stiles' long neck, his inner thighs brushing against Derek's hips because they're standing so close. Stiles is waiting for a reaction and Derek is doing his best not to shift on the spot and pounce. Who the hell writes those books?

The world loses most of its color and shadows grow deeper. Derek's eyes are a lost fight. He leans forward, just a little closer, palms flat against the smooth wood of the desk. Solid surface is a welcome support, because Derek's head is swimming.

“That's – for establishing hierarchy,” he manages between irregular, shallow breaths. “In packs. Or a display of trust. It can't work for you, not - smelling like you do now.”

“Oh,” Stiles says shakily and, like an idiot, doesn't straighten his head. “Well, we're not really arguing just yet.”

Derek leans in, bends his head until his nose finds the crook of Stiles' neck and breathes in deeply, fills his lungs with the scent of damp skin and want. Stlies reacts with a keening sound all wrapped up in a full body shudder, so Derek feels his fangs sharpen, “I think... damage's done anyway.”

He's felt a fleeting urge to give a claiming bite, a few times before. Not with Kate, she's too careful, but before that, sure. Once or twice, when things got heated, he's had to fight off the urge.

It hasn't been this hard. Nowhere near this hard.

But he's fighting it. Stiles' scent turning even sweeter is not helping. It's not helping that he's making a low noise like it's the only thing he can do with his voice, or that his hand is gripping Derek's like he's trying to keep him there.

“It seems to be working, though,” Stiles hazards breathlessly after a long minute of silence in which Derek is struggling so hard. “Sort of. Unless you want to bite me?”

He says it like a question, like it hasn't been tempting enough. There's soft skin of Stiles' neck, so close, close enough to scrape, just a little bit, when Derek murmurs, “I really do.”

“Don't!” Stiles orders sharply, squeezing Derek's wrist. His body knows what his mind doesn't, though, and his scent heats up to a sweet sort of frenzy.

Derek holds his breath for five seconds, then holds for ten and finally, the compulsion eases its hold some. He backs away until he's standing all the way behind the desk he's been leaning against earlier.

“I'm sorry,” he says. Although, honestly, he's just relieved that it hasn't gone much worse.

Stiles gives him a shy sort of look, all eyelashes and red cheeks. His thumb is rubbing the spot on his neck. “I might need a better book.”

“Make sure it was written by a werewolf. And in the last ten years or so.” At the questioning look, Derek shrugs, “Propaganda.”

“Right, then, so,” Stiles says, shaking back to his usual persona. He shows off his hold on the wand with a single, mocking nod. “I went to Hogsmeade today, with Cora and the others. And I saw Kate there.”

“She was chaperoning the first years. So what?”

“Ah,” Stiles says. “See, you don't know me all that well, Derek. But the thing is, I am a terrible busybody. I blame my dad's refusal to eat healthy food, but regardless. It's a character flaw.”

“Okay?”

“So, I ditched my friends and followed her around like a crazy person. Okay? I didn't like her even before she went berserk on me over that ward, and I wanted her to do something nasty where I can witness it.”

“Let me guess,” Derek sighs. “She didn't do anything.”

“She met an older man at Hog's Head. Her father, as I found out when I got close enough to hear their conversation.”

“Doesn't sound throat-rip worthy so far.”

“That was just the context, I'm afraid. For the record, I was hoping she's selling weed to the kids behind Hog's Head, something like that.”

“I think kids can find weed for free behind Hog's Head.” That place is nasty even on the front side. “Probably some snakes crawling in it, too, in summer.”

“No,” Stiles snorts. “Like, mood-altering potions and stuff. Don't make me laugh right now, that's not fair. I don't mean it literally, I was just hoping to stumble across something that's nothing to do with you. Unfortunately...” Okay, this is starting to sound not so good. “I mean, can you turn the thingie on?”

  
“The what?”

“The lie detector. Listen to my heart. So you can hear I'm telling the truth.”

“I can't.”

“What do you mean? Cora can.”

“Cora's spent more time with you.”

“Okay, but isn't it supposed to be a, like, a hearing thing? You can hear my heart go up or down or something?”

“Yes. But it's not as straightforward as that. Not everyone shows signs – or at least, standard signs – when they're lying. You don't. Sometimes I can tell, but mostly you say too many things at once and I guess your heart can't keep up. I could probably find your tell, ask you a string of test questions and find the pattern, but I actually have a detention soon, so.”

“Right. Better to get it out already. How much do you know about Kate's father?”

This is what Stiles wants to talk about? Derek knows Gerard Argent has been in prison, that he is very anti-werewolf oriented, he's heard about the guy, but what does that have to do with anything? It was a long time ago.

“Very little. She's never mentioned him.”

“Is that weird?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “We don't really talk that much.”

Stiles makes a displeased noise deep in his throat, and cuts it off immediately. “So it's not weird, fine, but in this case, it's deliberate. I promise. He's spent ten years in Azkaban. Got out recently. I heard them talking about it. He sounded really, really angry – or, more precisely, he sounded really angry at your mom.”

Derek is pretty sure he knows now where this is all going. “She must have been the one to prosecute him. What's your point?”

Stiles waves his wand in warning at Derek's tone, which has turned tight and cold. “You don't think it's weird? Your mom put this guy in prison for a decade, says terrible stuff about him that get printed all over the newspapers – ruins his life and his reputation, in his own opinion - and just when he's about to go free, his daughter gets involved with you?”

“No. My mother put many people in prison, it's what she does for a living. It's just a coincidence.”

“Fine,” Stiles says tightly, crossly. “That's it, that's what I wanted to tell you. The insinuation – the theory I'm working on is that your a-decade-older girlfriend is using you as a part of a sinister plot to get revenge on your mom for putting her dad in prison.”

“Now you're just trying to piss me off,” Derek points out. It's working, a little bit.

“But that's just me and my stupid brain, you go serve your detention – one of the five hundred million detentions still waiting for you because of Kate Argent - and don't worry about it. No one can say I didn't warn you, in case it's not really a coincidence and someone gets horribly hurt, which means it's not up to me any longer. Really, you can go to your detention now, Derek. It's all I had to say.”

No, actually, it's working very well. Derek steps closer to Stiles again, but it's all cold fury now. “I have a thing or two to say to you, though.” Regardless of how this is turning out, he's pleased to feel the tip of Stiles' wand against his chin. “Don't go around following her, _ever again_. She's not a criminal and she doesn't deserve to be harassed.”

Stiles lifts her chin defiantly, “I beg to differ.”

“I'm talking now,” Derek snarls. “Stay away from her, and don't you dare fill Cora's head with this nonsense, or I _will_ give you a reason to be scared of me. Do you understand?”

It's not that Derek doesn't mean what he's saying, he is. But this surge of raw, helpless fury feels almost foreign. He is waiting for the answer, staring hard at Stiles and he'd swear that the exactly the same feeling is reflected there.

Before he can pinpoint where the weirdness of it is coming from, Stiles grits out, “I understand.”

“Good,” Derek says lowly, knowing very well the vague threat won't stop him from digging further but somehow unable to summon his own anger and do better.

The door closes behind him with a dangerous noise, close to cracking. Derek would be very surprised if anyone could connect him with slamming it, because he's halfway across the castle wing in less than five seconds.

All anger drains from him like it's never been there in the first place.

And Derek thinks about the tip of his canine scarping skin, a new curious scent that's risen with it and is suddenly sure he's somehow managed to make things much, much worse.

 

***

 

Hours later, when Derek comes back to the tower after helping pick chokecherries frostbitten under a waxing gibbous moon for the upcoming seventh-year Potions classes, Cora is waiting for him in the common room.

She's so beyond furious, she almost sounds pleasant when she demands, “What did you do to him?”

“Nothing.”

“I'm serious, Derek, he's shut himself in a random classroom, not even McCall can drag him out and Merlin, that _stench_!” Derek can't hold back the wince. With Kate and everything, it's become a second nature to him to conceal lingering scents, and he's forgotten all about how Stiles must smell this evening to his sister. “You were supposed to make up, not... “

“Yes?” he says dryly, quite curious to hear her finish that sentence.

She narrows her eyes, hisses, “Take advantage of him!”

“Really? That's the best you've got?”

“You did something!”

“Ever occurred to her that he's the one who _did something_?” Derek stressed out the last part mockingly. “Did you put your new best friend through this interrogation or have you just assumed it's my fault because I'm apparently a rotten person who takes advantage of people now?”

Cora deflects a little. “I asked, and he didn't want to tell me anything. He's angry and hurt.”

“He won't get hurt if he learns to keep his nose out of other people's business.”

“So this is about her,” Cora says with a snarl and Derek is done with her.

“I've been looking for berries in the Forest all evening, Cora, I'm exhausted. I'll see you tomorrow.”

She doesn't try to stop him, so he leaves her in the common room. The warm water of the shower feels nice after the chilly evening, but he's too tired to take advantage of the empty bathroom. Later, in his bed, he tries not to think about anything. The night is too quiet and sleep won't come - his wired brain ends up over-analyzing every word he's heard that day.

He doesn't believe Kate is out to get him, or his family. She's not what one would call a warm and loving person, but Derek trusts his senses. She can't control the way her body reacts.

Though her reactions to him have never been overwhelming. He can't remember ever having to breathe carefully around her, ever being so close to shifting involuntary just because she bared her neck. Not that she's even done it like Stiles has today, so deliberately, and with Derek's own and the scent of a possible _home_ radiating off him like an invitation.

This isn't good. Suspicious motivation and illicit nature of their affair on the side, Derek is still with Kate. And Stiles is completely human and fifteen and an annoying busybody on top of that.

And angry with Derek.

No, this isn't good at all.

 

 

*

 

It's rare Kate will let him linger after they're done, and suddenly, Derek isn't sure why he's wanted it at all. Her bed doesn't smell like him when he sneaks in and out, she gets rid of it. It's strong right now, when he's still lying there on it, mixed in with her scent. It's a nice combination, it always has been.

Has he ever found it anything more than that, he's suddenly wondering. He remembers the flattery of her attentions, how good she looked when he first saw her out of her teaching robes. He remembers her laugh when he first leaned in to kiss her, the way she patted his hair when he told her that, yes, he was mostly still a virgin.

He also remembers how when Nate brought Maya home for the first time, not even mom's strict order could make him keep his nose away from her neck.

But that's different. Nate and Maya were starting a courtship. Kate is just... someone Derek's having sex with.

And honestly, she is free to pick anyone she wants, because fresh mess he's found himself in or not, Derek knows she's really beautiful. She's picked him. He knows he looks older than sixteen. There's an understanding between them, it's fun and satisfying and no one talks about love.

So why is all of the sudden wondering why she's letting him linger, instead of enjoying it?

“Kate?”

Her hair is falling a little from the bun she's quickly rolled to keep her hair out of her eyes as she looks over a letter. She's stretched across the armchair, and Derek knows that no matter what, he'll never again be with someone this beautiful and this sure of it.

Still, when she looks up at him, he asks, “Is something wrong?”

Her eyes light with surprise, but it lasts only a moment. “Why would you ask that, sweetie?”

“Something feels off,” Derek settles on after an inner debate. It's true, even if he doesn't mean her.

Kate smiles, leaves her letter to come back to bed, “Okay, you got me. I've been a little worried.”

Her hand is warm against his chest, a little distracting as she shifts closer. “What about?”

“I think your sister is suspecting something.”

“Cora?”

“Yes, silly, Cora, the only sister you've got here at Hogwarts,” Kate scoffs. “She's been giving me these angry looks and she refuses to cooperate in class. She's never been like that with me, but now it's like she can't stand me. I think she suspects.”

Derek swallows against an unexpected urge to convince her otherwise, makes absolutely certain Kate doesn't have a reason to dislike Cora. “I don't think so.” Kate hums, her nails blunt but pressing against his skin as she follows their trek with her eyes. “She'd have confronted me if she suspected anything.” He remembers how she yelled at him the other day, her fiercely protective nature. “It's probably about all those points you took from Stiles.”

He's a little worried she'll pick up something's up just from him saying Stiles' name, but she's frowning lightly. “Stiles... Stilinski? But I made good with him again. I taught him a few actually useful wards, gave him some points back. He's not upset with me, why would she be?”

Derek doubts that some points back are enough to make Stiles' life in Ravenclaw any better, and he knows for a fact that he's still upset with her. What he hasn't known is that, apparently, Stiles can be big enough bullshitter to fool Kate.

He doesn't have to lie, at least. “They're friends. Cora is very slow to forgive.”

“Friends?” Kate asks with a wicked smirk. “Or more than friends?” Something on his face makes Kate's smirk turn into a laugh. “Come on, honey, don't be such a cliché big brother. She's fifteen, she'll go spend time with boys in empty classrooms. It's not a bad thing.”

“It is if they're taking advantage of her,” Derek manages.

Kate laughs again. “If anyone, she's the one taking advantage of him. Poor boy, and so pretty.”

Her breast is against his arm, voice full of mirth and Derek wants to be somewhere else. “I'd better go. I have an essay due tomorrow.”

He starts to get up, but Kate's hand wraps around his wrist. “Don't be jealous, come on. I don't know when I'll be able to sneak you in again. Surely you can spare an hour longer on me?”

The smile on her face is softer now, inviting. Derek sits back down, turns to put his arms around her, says, “Okay.”

But he knows he won't come back after this. He won't tell anyone about her if he doesn't have to, but he also won't come back.

It just isn't what he wants any longer.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Staying angry with Derek comes much easier to Cora than it does to Stiles. She's had more practice, she claims, but really, it's Derek who makes it hard.

He's been spending all his time between the classes and detentions up in the Gryffindor tower, which means he hasn't been seeing Kate. Cora confirms it, too. He's not covering his scent any longer, and that reflects on her. Now that she's able to scent her brother properly whenever her need for her pack emerges, she's more relaxed than Stiles can remember her being ever before.

She's still angry with Derek, won't spend time with him, but this new gap between them isn't so full of tension like something is about to snap, the way it used to be. She refuses to sit with him in the Gryffindor common room, but won't hesitate to go to him and demand he shows her the proper wand movement for a spell she needs to perfect by next class. Stiles doesn't have any experience with it, but it all feels like a normal, human sibling thing.

Either way, Derek's not seeing Kate any longer. Something Stiles told him has to have struck a chord, despite the initial dismissal. It's liberating. Stiles is almost grateful, through that might be just the weight of jealousy and the looming sense of danger that's fallen off his back.

Well, it's mostly fallen off. He's expecting Kate's reaction, a retribution of some sort, but she's acting like she always does.

All in all, Stiles thinks he could now sit at the table with Derek and have a normal conversation, but Cora steers him away every time before he even tries. She says, “Let him work for it,” and “You reek enough as it is, it's not like it's going away,” and Derek only gets a little annoyed, although he can clearly hear her.

She won't explain herself and, just to be contradictory, claims it's Derek's place.

It's a little confusing, but not in a bad way. More like when you're waiting for Christmas, like something nice and warm is about to happen. Between Scott learning how to enlarge objects just so he can make his bed fit Stiles in as well and the epic essays the teachers demand they finish before the end of semester, everyone is busy and content.

When the full moon comes, Cora refuses to go out to the Forest with Derek. She'll be going home soon and the forest there is not nearly as overwhelming as this one, so she can go every day. She doesn't need it.

At dinner, she's clearly regretting it. She's so jittery with the expectation of the moon, she's making the whole table vibrate with it.

“Maybe it's not too late,” Stiles says when she all but growls at a third year reaching for a sausage. “Maybe you can still catch up with him?”

“No,” she's determined. “You'll forgive him before you go home, and I need to cram in as much time as I can before then.”

“I'm not upset,” Stiles tells her.

“Of course not, he gave up his teacher lover for you,” Cora sneers – it startles him a little, both her ferocity and the words. Derek may have given up his affair because of him, but it certainly wasn't _for_ him. “But soon enough, you won't have time for me – and Derek's an ass anyway, so I'm taking all I can while I can.”

“Why won't I have time for you?” She takes a huge bite off her fork and glares at him like he's being stupid. She has been a little clingy lately, but he's figured it's the upcoming winter break, not insecurity. “It's only a few weeks, and I promised I'll write back every time you send me an owl.”

Scott and Allison, forever inseparable - at least during the day hours - come to sit at the table. Cora turns her glare at them.

“Full moon?” Allison says, unperturbed.

Like you can't tell just from the way Cora is stabbing at her food.

“I wanna be outside,” Cora admits. “Like, I don't even remember when was the last time I felt this restless. The moon isn't even up yet.”

“You were fine ten minutes ago,” Stiles says, starting to worry a little.

“We should go play quidditch after dinner,” Scott suggests.

“Seriously?” Cora frowns. “I'm about ten times stronger under the full moon, you want to play quidditch with me tonight?”

“Well, I'm not gonna give you a bat – you can be the seeker. Or we can just fly around, try some moves.”

She looks tempted, but she glances at Stiles a few times, trying to decide. He shrugs, “I'll come along,” and because of her separation anxiety and because it's dark and no one but his friends will see anyway, adds, “I'll even play some quidditch with you, if you promise to go very, _very_ easy on me.” And if he remembers how to sit properly on a broom.

Scott is getting up before he's even finished the sentence. “I'm holding you to that.”

“Eat first, jeez. I won't change my mind if you put a few bites in you.”

“You'd better not,” Cora says, mouth even more full of food. “I've got to see this.”

“I want to see it, too,” Allison sadly joins in, “but I've I have to go and see Prof. Bakeley to try and change the subject for my essay. Someone checked out all the books on the use of magic in castle-building in the middle ages.”

“I'm sure you'll get to hear it in great detail,” Stiles assures her dryly. “I'll probably just fall right off the broom and break an arm.”

“If you do, I'll definitively come see you,” Allison promises, sweetheart that she is.

Cora gets up, and Scott follows suit, both impatient to get to the pitch. A few seats down the table, the Gryffindor seeker, Liam, asks hopefully, “Hey, can we come, too?”

Scott looks back at Cora. She rolls her eyes, “Well, I'm not gonna eat them.”

So Liam and his friend, Derek's replacement Mason, come along. It'll be more embarrassing to try and play quidditch in front of them, too, but well.

When they reach a door, Cora snaps her head to look at the Slytherin table. Stiles follows her line of sight, sees Erica and her friends. They look tightly wrung, wild-eyed and agitated.

“Is it, like, the supermoon tonight?” he mutters.

Cora hears him. “Just the full moon. I don't know, something feels wrong.”

She shrugs it off as soon as she says it, goes out through the door. Should they tell a teacher, Prof. Sinistra maybe? But tell them what, the werewolves are a little more restless than usual? Erica and her friends are on the wolfsbane potion, Cora has excellent control and Derek's not even in the castle.

Scott is chatting with Liam and Mason, way ahead already. Stiles catches up with Cora.

“Hey, will Derek be okay?”

She snarls, just a little. “Why wouldn't he be?”

“I don't know, if the moon is affecting you like this, it's probably affecting other things in the Forest. He's alone there.”

“There won't be anything stronger than him out there, not tonight,” Cora says. “You don't have to worry about him.”

“I can't help it,” he admits quietly. “It's not like he's doing a stellar job of it himself.”

Cora stops in place. “Fine, fine!” she says. Stiles is so alarmed to see her hands shaking, he's barely listening. “Wait for him when he comes back, fine. You'll make sure he's okay, he'll finally properly scent you – just remember that I am not even a little bit curious to know details. Move now.”

“Cora,” Stiles calls carefully, trying to keep up with her. “You're not okay. Maybe we should to the hospital wing instead.”

“I'm fine.”

“You're really not.”

“I'll be fine once I get outside, come on.”

He can't force her, so he follows her up to the tower. If she doesn't calm down after they spend some time outside, he'll go to see the mediwizard himself and ask for his opinion.

They go up to their dorms to get their quidditch things and cloaks, Stiles follows Scott to take his own winter wear as well.

Once Liam and Mason disappear into one of the rooms off the circular stairwell, Scott says, “You can have the whole bed tonight, by the way.”

“Ookaay,” Stiles raises his eyebrows.

Scott is red to the roots of his hair when he tells him quietly, “I'll be with Allison. We've talked about it.”

“At _her_ dorm? Uh, Scott...”

“No, no. Not her room, there's a place – let's just say we've picked up a few things from you these last couple of months, okay?”

Stiles rubs his neck, where the tiny cut Derek's made weeks ago with his werewolf fangs still itches, “Uh, thanks, but tonight, I think I'm gonna wait for Derek to come back.”

Scott grins widely, fitting his gloves into the pockets, “Good! I'm glad, you need to put that poor bastard out of his misery.”

“His not _in_ misery, Scott – don't forget the other broom.”

Scott grabs the other broom and passes it to Stiles, “You only say that because Cora steers you away before you can catch the way he's looking at you. It's so sad, even Allison coos at him.”

“You're making fun of me,” Stiles accuses.

“I wish, buddy. The way things are going, I'm gonna have to start a petition to make Sinistra let Derek out of the detentions. It's getting ridiculous to keep punishing him for a wrong a teacher did.”

At the mention of Kate, Stiles rubs his cut harder. It kinda stings now. “You're not even talking to me right now. This is Allison, she's figured out how to speak through your mouth.”

“Shut up,” Scott stammers. “I mean, she's right. And it'll help if he can play quidditch again and – well, yelling at him hasn't worked yet. And now I'll be getting you upset if I yell, too, so...”

“You and Cora need to stop making decisions for him, okay.”

Scott looks surprised. “Stiles, Derek's already... No, you know what, you said you'll wait for him tonight. You guys should talk about this between the two of you. It's really sweet of Cora to try and protect you so hard, but if she honestly can't tell you're at least as much to blame as Derek for whatever you guys fought about – well, she doesn't seem to be going anywhere. She'll get to know you better.”

“Wha – why would you say I'm to blame? You don't know that!”

“You'd still be mad otherwise,” Scott says with a pointed look.

“Oh, fine. Come on, let's go, the others must be waiting for us.”

Liam and Mason are waiting, fully geared. Cora isn't down yet.

“Can I play chaser? I've always wanted to try,” Mason asks Scott. They've been acting like Scott is their quidditch captain – which honestly, he will be soon enough. He's more passionate about quidditch and more skillful than Violet, their current captain. The only reason he isn't yet there is because he's a bit young.

“Sure,” Scott agrees easily. “We can't play a standard game, anyway, so you can try all the positions if you want to. We'll organize ourselves around you, so you can get the better feel for how the position really suits you. Maybe next year, you can really be a part of the team.”

“He's already part of the team,” Liam injects crossly, putting on his ratty seeker's gloves. He's leaning against a chair near the entryway to the dormitories.

“Only until Derek comes back,” Scott says with a smile, and Stiles really loves him for it. “What's the hold up with Cora?”

The subject change goes unchallenged as all boys look up, listening and waiting. Minutes pass, start piling up, but Cora isn't coming down. And they can't go up to check on her.

“Something's wrong,” Stiles says. “I knew she was acting wrong, I should have made her go to the hospital.”

Though he's not sure how he'd accomplish it when she didn't want to go. The sheer willpower?

“She's just been a little restless,” Scott tries to reassure him.

“She hasn't just been restless, she's been... unsettled and agitated.”

“How about this?” Mason says. “I'll go fetch a teacher, and the mediwizard, just in case?”

Stiles feels a surge of liking for the guy, he nods gratefully. Mason's not even a whole minute gone when there's a noise coming from the stairwell.

And it's the kind of noise that makes Scott instantly reach for his wand.

“Liam, get back,” Stiles hisses.

Liam stumbles forward, looking confused at the growling and the quick, irregular steps descending behind him. Stiles reaches his own wand, trying to think.

Cora's shifted when she bursts into the room. She's snarling, wild and barely recognizable. Scott points his wand at her, calls her name. She's not paying him any attention, intent on Liam, who is the closest to her.

Scott shoots a stunner at her, and Stiles thinks _no, no, no_ , but can't remember what Derek's told him to do instead. Hit square on the chest, Cora makes a furious noise, but it doesn't stop her. She grabs Liam by the shoulders, claws sinking into his flesh while he cries out.

Scott desperately tries to stun her again. It's stronger this time, strong enough to make her throw Liam away like a rag doll and turn toward Scott. She looks at him once, like she's assessing his worth as prey, tips her head back and lets out the loudest, most terrifying noise Stiles has heard in his life.

It's a howl, he thinks, automatically stepping back. There's an armchair in his way, though, and he trips. He couldn't see it – senses, Derek was talking about a spell that'll trick his senses. Can he put a blindfold on her? He can't recall the incantation, though.

Cora finishes her ugly call and Scott tries another stunner. Can't he see it's not working? Cora advances quickly, grabs him almost exactly like she had Liam.

Hearing, maybe? Stiles is thinking frantically, still sitting on the floor. But how do you...?

It comes to him. He raises his wand and casts the spell he's been working on with Scott a few weeks ago. It's for changing air pressure, an atmospheric charm. He holds it, a bright beam of bluish light spreads around Cora and Scott – if she doesn't have eardrums more sensitive than him, he'll get hurt, too. But eardrums heal, mostly, and deep wounds from claws and fangs lead to certain death, so Stiles holds it, hand as steady as he can make it.

Finally, Cora lets Scott out of her grasp to clutch at her ears. Scott's bloody and disoriented, but he stumbles away, so Stiles keeps the spell on her until she's on her knees.

The spell turns bluer and bluer as the pressure grows, and he can feel it across the room despite the restricted effect. Finally, Scott steps forward again and casts a binding spell on Cora. Then another one.

Stiles finally stops building pressure around her, and adds a binding spell of his own on top of Scott's. Then, just to be sure, both of them cast another bonding spell at the same time. The ropes entwine and she looks like a furious mummy, but a safely restrained one.

They stare down at her body twitching.

“Some teamwork,” Stiles quips shakily.

“I thought we were dead,” Scott says, dazed. “I thought – Liam?”

Liam makes a pitiful noise from the corner, “Ugrh.”

Scott goes to check on him. Stiles crouches next to Cora.

“Cora?” She snaps her eyes toward him. They are glowing yellow and completely delirious. She doesn't recognize him at all. What the hell is going on? “It's okay. I'll take you to the hospital wing now.”

She bares her long, terrifying teeth, doesn't show any signs of understanding.

Liam is okay enough to stand up with Scott's help. They're both covered in blood. It's lucky Mason at least wasn't there to get hurt...

“Guys,” Stiles says as the realization hits. “The other werewolves, they also acted off at dinner.”

Though he spared them only a few seconds long look, he can now see the three bitten werewolves at the Slytherin table in his head. Boyd showing his teeth, Erica staring at the girl in front of her, Issac hugging his food to himself.

“Yeah, didn't you hear?” Liam says weakly. “They howled back at her.”

Stiles hasn't heard. Maybe his mind registered it as an echo or he simply couldn't hear it over his blood pumping so hard in fear.

“I sent Mason out there,” Stiles says, feeling sick. “There are little kids in the Great Hall – what are we gonna do?”

“Come on, calm down,” Scott says. “The teachers were there, too. And we know exactly what to do – you just figured it out, okay? Let's head to the hospital.”

Stiles leads the way, levitating Cora, as the only one who's not hurt, but he keeps close to Scott. They are almost stomped over by a bunch of Gryffindors running for their lives toward the tower. At least they'll really be safe in there, as Cora at least doesn't look coherent enough to give passwords to portraits.

Scott grabs a girl's arm, “What's going on?”

She's staring at Cora's stiff form, “The Feral kids, they went all...”

“Feral?” Stiles offers.

She nods, “The teachers reacted, started shooting spells, so they ran for the door... We don't know where they are!”

“Go to the common room,” Scott says with authority. “If you come across them, a stunner won't work.”

“Dungbombs!” Stiles says, because his brain is working now. “A strong whistling charm if you know it – or anything that'll overwhelm or null their sense of smell or hearing. You hear me?”

She nods, “O -okay, I'll tell everyone.”

She glances again at Cora, takes in that she's bound and safe before she nods again and runs after her friends.

They come across another two similar groups of students, as Liam looks paler and paler with the blood loss and pain. Stiles promises himself to look up the whatever is the equivalent of first aid around here, so he never again has to look someone slowly lose grasp on consciousness before his eyes.  
When they burst into the hospital wing, mediwizard Dunbar is ready for them, but his first words are, “Liam?”

“I'm okay, dad,” Liam says, though he obviously isn't. Stiles has forgotten they are related.

“Sit here,” the mediwizard orders. “Put the girl on the bed in the back, next to the window.”

He starts treating Liam right away, while Scott and Stiles put Cora in the bed they've been instructed to. At all four corners of the mattress, there are straps attached and ready to use.

“Was Mason by earlier?” Liam asks at the front part of the room, between the hisses of pain.

“He's in the back, gathering some tools for me,” the mediwizard assures him. “Hold still.”

“I'll sit with her,” Stiles tells Scott, who's also favoring his bloody shoulder. “Go, get fixed.”

Cora is trying to twist in her binds, which are starting to snap under her strength. There's a row of tall windows in the wall her bed is pushed against, the moon is still low but Stiles can see it clearly from his vantage point. Up on the hill, Hogwarts is high enough to even at the ground level be above the treeline of the Forest.

Mediwizard finishes threating Liam and Scott quickly.

“I'm gonna go and try to help people,” Scott says, rolling his healed shoulder and pulling together the ripped ends of his uniform. “Stiles, you alright?”

“I'll stay with Cora.”

Scott leaves despite Dumbar's protests. Luckily, they are enough to stop Liam from following after him.

By the time Mason emerges from the back room, hands full of potions and herbs, Cora manages to snap a few more binds.

“I need her in those straps,” Dumbar says. “They're made especially as a prevention for this sort of thing, soaked in wolfsbane. It'll weaken her.”

They have to go slow, only unwrap one of her limbs at the time. Both of Cora's feet are soon secured in the straps, but her reaction to it is an outrage. Dunbar frees only her left arm to bind next, but when Stiles tries to put it in the strap, Cora grabs him. Maybe there's a part of her that recognizes him, is able to scent him, and that's why she doesn't dig her claws into his flesh. But her grip is superhumanly strong anyway, and by the time the mediwizard and Mason manage to wrestle it off him, his arm is broken. There's an actually audible snap, and Cora, just for a moment, looks startled and lets go of him.

It hurts like hell, especially when he tries to move it. Stiles isn't really of much use like that, but he keeps close by as Dunbar and Mason manage to get Cora into all four straps. She makes pained noises, but most of the fight has drained out of her.

“Sit here, Mr Stilinski,” says the mediwizard, though why he knows Stiles' name is a mystery. He does sit as instructed, though, careful not to move too much. “It's an easy fix, just stay still for a moment.”

The spell is warm and quick as it wraps itself around the spot that hurts Stiles the most. Something pulls tight on the arm before it disappears, taking with it most of the pain. Stiles is bending his arm sideways to test it, when another howl vibrates through the castle.

Cora whines, deep in her throat, at the sound of it. It seems to calm her down instead of rage her, and she closes her eyes, as if to sleep.

Mason and Dumbar start attaching four more sets of straps to beds around, strategically as apart from one another as the room allows. Stiles sits there, on the bed next to Cora's, rubs his aching arm gingerly and waits for her to come to herself.

 

***

 

Cora refuses to come along to the forest. She's been spending every waking hour nursing and polishing her pack bond with Stiles, like she's expecting not to see him for months, not only a few weeks, and is preparing for it. Derek's been staying out of it, because she obviously needs it.

That's not to say it's been easy. Derek can smell the ripe odor of the claiming bite on Stiles from across the room – sometimes, it feels, from across the castle. He's been half expecting it after that anger channeling episode during their fight, but it's altogether baffling. There was no biting, for once. He remembers vividly how badly he wanted to sink his teeth in, he remembers the change of their scents when the very tip of his fang scraped the skin of Stiles' neck – but he had no idea that something like that, just a tiny scrape, could ever be enough.

Obviously, it is enough. It has been for them. He needs to talk to Stiles, but... On one hand, it's a lot to take in, a huge responsibility. Derek is a little anxious about what it means and how it may affect a fifteen-year-old human. On the other hand, it did take, it's brimming with potential, it's pulling unflinchingly on his every instinct and Derek really wants to try.

His procrastination does nothing to diminish the lure of the bite. If anything, it gets riper, smells more cloying. Derek is pretty sure that means Stiles isn't angry with him any longer, but he still lets Cora have all the time she wants. For the moment.

He's put on some older clothes, something he doesn't mind getting caught in the branches, before he leaves the castle. It's a cold day, a thin layer of snow is already covering everything, but his blood is running warm with the promise of the moon.

The forest is full of things that welcome him when he comes to them, playing a game in which Derek is sometimes the one who's chasing and sometimes the one who's being chased. There are innocent things, too, and he never lets the moon pull him far enough to trap them under his claws, sink his teeth into their soft flesh, but he can't resist scaring them a little, making them run. Everything should run while the moon is rising.

Moon's only been up for several minutes when he hears a howl. It's like a call from home, everything in him is ringing and rising, so it can only be Cora. It is Cora, of course it is, but Derek still needs to rationalize that to himself as he pulls away from the moon, because he's left her safe, in the castle.

And that howl, that pained and raging cry, it's not her playing a game, or giving a little too much into her shift, or even asking for help. It's a call to hunt. A call for blood.

He starts running back. It takes a while – he's gone deep into the woods. There are a few answering howls after hers – there are a few other werewolves in the castle, it's them. Their voices don't affect him the same way Cora's has, but the nature of it is unmistakable – chase, catch, rip. What's going on?

The castle is in a panic when he bursts through. Groups of students hold together, a teacher is leading the youngest ones to safety. Some Gryffindors try to stun him. The spells miss him completely. Derek shifts back, glares at them in passing. They're terrified of him.

Derek stops, turns back to demand, “Where's my sister?”

Someone shrieks in the group, but most seem to realize he won't hurt him. A few boys look at one another, one finally answers, “I don't know. I don't think she was in the Hall.”

“What happened?”

“You – you weren't....” another boy stammers.

“I was out of the castle, I heard howling – what happened?”

“The Feral kids,” the first boy says, trademark Gryffindor bravado shining through. “They went nuts over dinner, started attacking everyone.”

“And Cora?”

“We told you, she wasn't there. Maybe it's just the Ferals?”

Derek shakes his head, starts running again. He's heard her howling, and she was the first one to do it. Whatever has happened, it's happened to her, too. He's last seen her in the common room. That has been hours ago, but it's a place to start.

He reaches the main staircase in time to see someone flying high above his head, blood splattering everywhere. Derek reaches to grab the robes, manages to slow down and ease the fall. It's a student, a girl, and she's still alive, through her hip is a mess.

She's come from the first landing, suspended in the air between the first and the ground floor with both sets of stairs missing. Two figures are on it, one is frantically trying to cast some sort of spell on the other. It's not working.

Derek needs a momentum to cross that upward distance, it costs him precious seconds, but he lands swiftly on the landing between Scott McCall and... yeah, that's one of the Feral kids, Issac something. Pack strength courses through him as he calls on it, and Derek grabs Issac for the throat and roars.

He's a Hale and so that roar is a powerful force. In the wake of it, Hogwarts' main staircase is eerily quiet for several long seconds. Issac is cowing against the banister, but it's instinctual. There's still a wild look in his eyes, even if he's mostly hiding them behind his arm.

Derek puts him in a binding, and adds a sensory deprivation spell, just in case he manages to get out of it. “McCall? You okay?”

“Am I okay? Are _you_ okay?”

Derek scents the air, but there's only the smallest trace of fresh blood on him, maybe a scratch or two, despite the blood-soaked clothes. He's sure acting like his usual annoying self, so that's encouraging, too. “Where's Cora?”

“She's at the Hospital Wing, we took her there, Stiles is with her. But we heard the other howls, so I left to see if I can help find the others. What _is_ going on?”

“I don't know, I was out running. Come on, let's take Issac to the Hospital Wing.”

Scott shakes his head, says, “I'll do it. You have to help.”

“I mean to help,” Derek says, frowning. “I'm going there anyway, to see Cora.”

“Not help _me_ , you have to help teachers catch Erica and Boyd before they hurt someone.”

He's right, Derek realizes. The teachers are not incapable of dealing with this, but there'll be less damage all around if he helps.

“Fine. Levitate him, it'll go quicker, he can't orient himself at all because of the sensory deprivation spell I put on him, but you should stay out of his reach.”

There's a racket and growling up on the third floor, so Derek turns away from Scott. He can still hear the muttered, “At least you didn't bust his eardrums,” as he starts running again.

 

Erica and Issac are not easy to catch. By the time they're both down, Derek's mind is shot between the moon, worry for Cora and cornering two feral werewolves, so he's carrying Boyd over his shoulder instead of levitating him. The weight helps ground him a little.

The rest of the teachers have gone to sweep the castle for injured students, so it's only Prof. Longbottom with Derek now. He's levitating Erica, and they're both trying to ignore how her face convulses in anger and terror.

“Do you know what happened, Professor?”

Prof. Longbottom says in his mild way, “No, not for sure. Possibly a faulty batch of the wolfsbane potion, but...” He peers through the window, up to the sky, but the moon is on the other side of the castle. Derek assumes the school would know if there was a full moon phenomenon, so he's doing it just on an impulse. Either way, it's just a full moon, nothing strange about it.

He points out, “But Cora's not taking the potion.”

“Cora?” Prof. Longbottom looks so worried, Derek thinks he might bump Erica into a wall. “I haven't seen Cora tonight. Are you sure she's affected?”

“McCall said they knocked her out and took her to the Hospital Wing.”

“Was she hurt? Was anyone hurt?”

“I don't know, I was out in the Forest, running. And when I came in, I went to help get Erica and Boyd right away.”

They turn into another hallway in silence.

“You're sure she's not taking the potion? Has she been having any problems with her control? Maybe she requested it at the last moment?”

“She hasn't had any problems since she was twelve.” Adjusting to puberty is always problematic, no matter how good your control is to begin with. Either way, the potion cuts off a werewolf from the moon, but also from the pack. It's the last thing Cora would ever take willingly. “And even if she has had problems, she'd sooner request our mom than the potion.”

Prof. Longbottom looks more worried now than when he had two feral werewolves trying to rip his throat out. War veterans, what do you know.

“We'll look into it, don't worry. It's important no one's in danger right now and to get everyone to hospital.”

Derek nods, agreeing. He's hoping Cora wouldn't hide from him is she's needed the potion after all, but if it hasn't been that, then... What the hell happened?

There's a commotion in the Hospital Wing when they enter. Four people, plus mediwizard Dunbar, are gathered around the bed with Issac in it.

“Come on,” Scott McCall is saying fiercely. “We can hold him!”

They are having a hard time of it, though. Derek puts Boyd on one of the empty beds and goes to help. He pins trashing Issac down, holding his shoulders flat against the mattress. “What's going on?”

“I can't cast a stasis spell strong enough to hold him,” the mediwizard looks relieved as he takes in how easy is for Derek to keep Issac on the bed. “He needs to be still for this procedure, the straps are not enough.”

“How's my sister?”

“Cora Hale? She's recovering.” He goes back to performing a straining looking spell.

“She's right there,” a worn-out voice says near his shoulder and Derek turns to see Stiles nodding toward one of the beds behind them. “They had to strap her to the bed, just in case, but we got the poison out. I think she's sleeping.”

 

Derek listens to her. Her heartbeat is quick but steady, and her breathing is even. “She's been hurt, though.”

“She's healed!” Stiles immediately reassures him. He's keeping close to Issac's bed, wand in hand, but he hasn't been helping. His face is glistening with sweat, skin pale and eyes dull. No blood, but...

“You've been hurt, too,” Derek says. Now when he's focusing and they're standing close, he can feel the echo of an ache in his arm.

Like he's following Derek's thoughts, Stiles gestures at the arm he's been holding stiffly. “It was just broken. Should've stop hurting by now, I'm all fixed.”

“...types of wolfsbane have you got?”

Derek and Stiles both snap their heads and attention to the conversation between the two adults like one.

“The type we use for the potion and an experimental one at my chambers. Are you sure it was a strain of wolfsbane, through? I can think of at least four other plants that can be found on Hogwarts grounds werewolves are sensitive to.”

“I don't know. When I extract the toxin out of their system, I'll send samples to St. Mungos. That'll take time, though, so I'll do some tests myself while we're waiting. Samples would be helpful.”

Prof. Longbottom looks very grim. “If this isn't an accident, I'd better collect those samples immediately.”

Issac is going quieter, his scent is easing back from the rotting sourness. It hardly takes any effort to hold him down now.

“Mr. McCall,” the mediwizard says. “Since you insist on staying, you might as well help. Open the cabinet next to my desk, that is where the supplies are. Take three dropper bottles to take samples with, put on a pair of gloves and bring another set for Mason.”

Scott does as instructed. Derek keeps holding Issac down until the mediwizard extracts as much poison as it's possible through the pores of the skin. He dumps the tainted sweat into a bucket and then they move on to do the same for Erica, and then for Boyd.

When they finish, Scott finally agrees to go after fussing some more about Stiles' arm and Derek is finally able to go and sit with his sister. She can't quite turn like she wants because of the straps. Derek wants to call his mom, his Alpha. He'll wait until morning to try; the pack is probably out anyway. They are running right now, up and down the length of the stream that runs across their property, adults and children barefooted on the fresh snow, exhausting themselves, secure in the knowledge that there's all the food they can eat waiting for when the moon goes down and a free day tomorrow to rest.

Dragging of a chair interrupts his thoughts.

“Peace and quiet, finally,” Stiles whispers, settling into his chair on the other side of Cora's bed, like he hasn't already woken everyone who could wake up dragging that chair.

“You should be in bed.”

“In bed, by a bed. It's practically the same,” Stiles waves his hand dismissively, only to wince and gasp.

“I thought you were 'fixed',” Derek frowns.

“It's still kinda sensitive. Hurts when I move my arm. But I _can_ move my arm, so that's really better,” he snorts and smiles at the arm in question. “I wish my dad could have seen that. He's still half convinced I'm learning to, like, do card tricks and saw half-naked girls in half.”

“What?” Derek asks, buffered. “Why would you be learning how to saw people in half in school?”

“You've never seen a magician's act, then, I gather,” Stiles says smugly, like the fact that he has while Derek hasn't is a truly great accomplishment. Derek doubts it is, considering. “I'd offer to show it to you, but...”

Right. They're fighting, or something. Derek hasn't answered any of Kate's summons for a few weeks now, and Stiles hasn't been running out of the room lately, but they haven't talked at all after that fight.

“Yeah,” he says, just to say something. Stiles is all the way on the other side of the bed, yet Derek can still smell the mark of the promise he's been wearing. Derek's mark. They need to talk, and soon.

Stiles slumps even lower in the chair, turns his head to watch Cora. The moon is still up, somewhere high above the castle, so Derek can't sleep. He's waiting for the morning to come in silence and near-dark. After a while, it becomes clear that he can find some entertainment - between the bouts of frustration - in progressively outrages positions Stiles can sleep in. His head is completely hanging over the side at one point, constricts his throat so he sounds like he's choking with every breath he takes. Yet he sleeps on.

Derek gives in, takes his chair to the other side of the bed. He sits down as close as he can, pushes his arm so Stiles' head is nestled between it and the armrest. The unnerving noise stops.

There's some worry for Cora in the way, but the moon is pulling relentlessly and Stiles isn't shy to show off his neck in his sleep, so Derek spends a lot of that night looking at it, resisting to touch it and wondering how such a small cut can produce such a strong scent.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Cora and Stiles are still sleeping when Derek jerks awake in his chair. His back is stiff, the ache there dissolving as he stretches up his shoulder. Mediwizard Dumbar is standing over the bed, the tip of his wand glowing a clear green in the early morning half-light.

“There are a few beds left, Mr. Hale. You can use one.”

Derek shakes his head. “Do you have a fireplace here? I'd like to call my mom.”

“I'm sure Prof. Sinistra will inform your parents first thing.”

“This is more me needing to reach out to my Alpha, though.” But it's not all it is. He thinks it'll be good for Cora to wake up to the faces of their parents.

“There's a fireplace in my office, for the quick connection to St. Mungo's. Don't let her try to come through, though, it's warded.” Dumbar hesitates, frowns at his right. “Mr. Stilinski? Would you like to use the fireplace, too?”

Derek pauses to hear the answer, looks down where Stiles' head is now pressed against his shoulder.

“We don't have one at home,” Stiles mumbles in a voice dry from sleep, “but if we did, I'd totally take you up on it just to see my dad's face.”

He straightens in his chair, gives Derek a sleepy, confused frown, like he can't quite remember why is he there at all. Then he wipes his chin off the imagery drool and gets up to check on Cora, face red.

Derek's firecall goes through right away. Maya answers and the reason she's awake is obvious from the candy pink apron and batter splattered all over it. Derek is intensely homesick, and hungry. “Making breakfast?”

“Gotta start early if I want to feed everyone this morning. What's up, Derek?”

“I need to talk to mom, actually.”

The worry Maya's been hiding since the moment she saw his face is quickly escaping her hold. “Is everything alright? Are you guys okay?”

Cora is not awake yet, but he assures her, “We're okay. But can you wake mom up and tell her to come to Hogwarts as soon as she can? Dad, too?”

“I will, okay. Why, though?”

“Cora's spent the night in the Hospital Wing. She seems fine now – she's sleeping – but something weird happened.”

“Was anyone else hurt?” Maya asks, taking off the apron already. What she's really asking is has Cora hurt anyone.

“Nothing serious. Tell them not to try to come through the Hospital Wing fireplace, it's warded.”

She nods, “I'll see you soon, okay, Derek? Go back to Cora.”

Maya disconnects the call. As much as Derek's wanted to talk to his mom right now, he's grateful for her practicality.

Back in the Wing, most beds still hold sleeping forms. Derek passes Boyd's bed and catches his eye. He's got to stop for a moment, say, “Hey.”

Boyd licks his lips. “Hale. What happened?”

“I don't know. It seems like you were poisoned somehow.”

Boyd looks surprised. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I... I just thought the potion's stopped working and I'll be stuck like this for the rest of my life. Was thinking they'll lock us up.”

“No one got seriously hurt,” Derek offers as the only comfort he can think of. They both know that even now, werewolves are treated as special cases. If they don't find who poisoned them and how, who knows what'll happen? And not just to the Feral kids. To Cora, too. Maybe also to Derek.

Derek nods before heading back to his sister's side. Stiles is back in his chair, still as close to Derek's abandoned one as Derek has made it last night. He is wide awake now, watching mediwizard cast some spells on his arm. The arm that was supposedly all fixed last night.

“I don't detect anything. The bone is whole and the muscles are okay. I'll give you a mild pain-relieving potion, but don't come back for more.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I'm not an addict on a potion scam, doc. Last time I broke a bone – in the other arm, actually – I barely took any painkillers. And it took almost two months to heal completely.”

Derek tries imagining a two months healing process as he sits back in his place. It's impossibly long time to pause your life and sit in hospital.

Stiles smells faintly like Erica, like he's gone to her bed to check on her.

“Ah, that might be it,” the mediwizard says. “I've heard of the phenomenon, it shows in Muggleborns. Your arm is healed, but your brain is wired to believe that it takes much longer than that. It seems impossible after the previous experiences.”

“My brain is confused. Okay. That explains a lot,” Stiles rubs his forehead, using the healed arm. He doesn't flinch. “So you're saying it's psychosomatic.”

“I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the term.” The mediwizard is actually looking doubtful, like he thinks Stiles must have invented it on the spot.

“You guys probably use a different word. Hey, do we get breakfast in bed here? Because I'm starving.”

“You, Mr. Stilinski, get breakfast in the Great Hall, because I'm discharging you.”

Stiles looks down at Cora. “No. I'm staying with her.”

“Visiting hours are two to fo...”

“You only _think_ it's psychosomatic, you don't know. They might be something really wrong with me. My arm _hurts_. And you've barely even heard of the phenomenon.”

“I've barely encountered the phenomenon, but this is only my second year at Hogwarts, Mr. Stilinski. Before that, I worked at the Spell Damage department of St Mungo and was therefore uninvolved with the recovery process.”

Stiles is unimpressed. “I'm not going anywhere before you get a chance to talk to your buddies at the hospital and consult. I want a second opinion!”

“In that case,” the mediwizard says. “I will need a blood sample, which I will have to extract mechanically, with a needle. So magic wouldn't interfere with the results, you understand.” Wide-eyed, Stiles nods. “Well, then, you may stay.”

He turns to walk away, so Derek says, “Boyd's awake, sir. Do you think we can untie him, now? He seems okay.”

Mediwizard hurries over to Boyd's side, muttering about being distracted from his work.

“You could have told him that before he threatened to kick me out,” Stiles says sullenly.

“You were the one demanding breakfast in bed.”

“He actually tried to use a needle to scare me off, God. Like I'm an amateur. Like I'm scared of needles. Ha!”

“You are, though,” Derek says, smirk stretching his lips.

“Oh, now you can hear me lying all of the sudden.”

“You're calm. It's easier,” Derek shrugs.

“And he heard your heart backflip when Dumbar mentioned a needle,” Cora speaks up, startling them both. Derek hasn't noticed she's awake, she's been faking it well. “Is it really that painful?”

“Realistically?” Stiles shrugs. “It depends. Regular needle, not too much, because it only makes a tiny hole. I wouldn't be surprised if he came back with a needle meant for horses. Or thestrals, I guess. Or dragons! Do you think there's such a thing? A needle made specifically to be used on a dragon?”

Cora's trying to sit up while Stiles is talking, but the straps are too short. Derek looks at the mediwizard, who is busy tending to Boyd, and contemplates untying her himself. Before he can decide, the door on the far side of the hospital wing opens and he's submerged suddenly into the feeling of _pack_.

“Oh my God,” Derek hears Stiles breathe next to him. “You guys look _stoned_ , this is so great.”

It's mom and dad, Laura, Nate and Peter. Prof. Sinistra is walking with them. Derek goes to meet them.

Mom reaches them first, squeezes Derek's shoulder on her way to Cora's side. The short touch makes one of many knots in Derek's shoulders unwind. The rest of them do more or less the same as they come closer one by one; Peter brushes a shoulder against his, everyone else hugs Derek.

“Hey, guys,” Cora says with a really wide smile. “How come you're here already? Visiting hours aren't until later.”

“Why is she still tied up?” Laura demands. “She's clearly not feral, so why is she tied up?”

“There was no way to know for sure everything is alright before they woke up, Miss Hale.” Prof. Sinistra says. Laura has clearly lost her conditioning to obey a teacher in just six months. Her face promises a storm.

“Laura,” dad says, “There are kids are sleeping.”

“How long have you been awake, Cora?” mom asks.

“Only a few minutes,” Cora assures, then frowns at the room and their pack. “What kind of visitation is this? It's my first time in hospital, and I was lead to believe there'd be pampering.”

“Balloons and flowers and get-well cards and chocolate,” Stiles reminds her.

“Balloons and flowers and cards and sooo much chocolate,” Cora picks up immediately, but everyone's attention is now divided between her and Stiles. “Where're are the others?”

Derek, whose attention is now firmly on Stiles, sees him mouthing 'others?' with eyebrows up. It occurs to him for the first time that the entire pack will be able to sense the claiming bite on him. Uh, he should have tried harder to talk to Stiles.

“Hey, Library Kid,” Laura calls to Stiles, cheered up at the sight of him like she's got to meet an old friend. “Did you get hurt last night? You don't smell hurt. Why are you in the Hospital Wing?”

“Hey, Laura Hound,” Stiles calls back, all grinning and smarmy. Nate and Cora snicker freely, and even mom hides an amused smile – Laura _is_ a great tracker. “I'm fine, I'm just visiting Cora.”

“At 6AM?” Peter asks lightly. He's closer than the rest, sitting in Derek's chair which he's moved at the bottom of Cora's bed.

Cora snorts, “It's psycimatic.”

“Psychosomatic,” Stiles says, uncomfortable under the stares. “But we're waiting for a second opinion on that, so...”

Derek makes his decision, walks around Peter to stand behind Stiles' chair. No one comments on it, but no one misses it, either – including Prof. Sinistra.

“In the meantime, he's just sitting at my bedside, bluffing mediwizards, flirting with Derek when he thinks I'm unconscious.”

That earns a response, even a few laughs. Not a long time ago, Derek would be upset and annoyed at their obvious amusement at his expense, but now... He's just revealed they're not upset with him.

“I mean, I totally would have,” Stiles braves, though he is very embarrassed. His neck is burning red. “Have I known you'll be okay and not a complete brat when you wake up, I would have taken my chance.”

Nate snickers again, and he meets Derek's eyes for a second before deciding to show mercy. He offers his hand over Cora's bed, “Hello, Library Kid. I'm Cora and Derek's older brother.”

“It's Stiles. Only Laura gets to call me Library Kid.”

“It's true, it was my farewell present,” Laura nods. Nate backs off after his handshake with a smile and she climbs Cora's bed to sit at the bottom, in front of Peter, since mom and dad unstrapped Cora and she's moved her legs out of the way. “Stiles, this is my mum and dad.”

Derek holds his breath as mom looks over at Stiles. She's smiling, though – even smirking. “We should be meeting under better circumstances.”

Stiles says, “Uh,” and for the first time looks up at Derek, looking for some guidance.

Derek promises, “I'll explain later.”

“And this is Peter,” Laura continues after dad shakes hands with Stiles.

Peter nods, eyes narrowed and calculating. It's not a promising look, though it sometimes results in great things. “Stiles. Will you tell us the story about the nicknames?”

Laura and Stiles grin at each other like old friends. He says, “There's not much to tell. I am an overachieving Revenclaw and it's was in Laura's job description to make sure I was in my common room after ten, not at the library.”

“I was very good at being the Head Girl,” Laura adds wistfully.

“Oh,” Stiles snarks at her. “I wonder if that has anything to do with half of the job consisting of sniffing out couples hiding in abandoned classrooms and grimy broom closets.”

“It has everything to do with it,” Laura assures him. “It was the highlight of my life.”

“It certainly will be, if you don't find a job soon,” Mom tells her. Laura's inability to figure out what she wants to do after Hogwarts hasn't been a big issue this summer, but it's obviously starting to be, from the way mom's holding her mouth and the way Laura's lifting her chin. Everyone else is quiet.

“You should open a P.I. agency,” Stiles says quickly. “I'll help you, I'll do all the movie references and wear a trench coat and you can find missing dogs and cheating femme fatals. It'll be awesome.”

Laura's staring at him in a dazed awe, “I never understand what you're on about. Did you get that?”

She's looking between Cora and Derek as if she could read on their faces what's made them try so hard to make this perplexing kid smell so much like family.

Stiles is worrying his lip, glancing once again over his shoulder to meet Derek's eyes. And his scent is off, jarring. Discomfort is spelled all over him.

Derek looks at Laura, shrugs. “You and mom arguing is making him nervous.” Which, honestly, just means he could fit in just fine into the pack, since his instincts are spot on. Mom and Laura fighting is the loudest, most intense and stressful thing that happens in their house.

Prof. Sinsitra comes back with mediwizard Dumbar. There's a short discussion among the adults in which they decide Cora can leave the Hospital Wing – as long as at least another werewolf is with her at all times, just in case. She wants to go to the Great Hall and have an early breakfast and Peter volunteers to come along. Everyone else is going to Prof. Sinistra's office to talk about what happened and how.

There hasn't been enough time to get Cora out of the clothes she's been wearing, but she's not bothered as she jumps out of the bed and leads the way out. Stiles rushes around Peter and Derek after her and he's almost at the door when the mediwizard calls, “Mr. Stilinski!”

“No, no, no, no,” Stiles chants under his breath, hands covering his ears, until he's outside in the hallway. When they close the door, he snorts, incredulously. “Did he honestly think I'd let him stick a needle in me?”

“I think he was looking forward to it. Been waiting for a kid just crazy enough to all but insist on it,” Derek says.

“Yeah, haha. That was a bluff to let me stay with Cora. No needles was Hogwarts' biggest selling point. My dad was kinda hoping I'll learn how to conjure money, or at least those spicy German sausages, but me? I was all about health care.”

“Your father has strange notions about the Wizarding world,” Peter notes. He doesn't even know half of it, Derek thinks, remembering half-naked girls sawed in half.

The stairs are slow to react, as if spooked by last night. There's no trace of blood anywhere on the staircase – house elf magic is the only thing that can clean it out so completely.

“Well, it's because he's never really had a chance to experience it, obviously. All he knows is what the movies tell him, and the movies rarely ever tell him the truth.”

“Hasn't he come to Hogwarts to visit you?”

The questioning is starting to bother Stiles. “It's not that easy. He's a muggle.” Peter gives him his 'you don't say' eyebrow. “It means he needs all sorts of permits – to board the train, to enter the school, to have the anti-muggles resistance charm done. It's expensive and it has to be done at the Ministry, where he can't go to in the first place without a magically-inclined chaperon. We've been to the Ministry once together, when I got my scholarship, because people wanted to take pictures of us with the board members of the Foundation, but I think he remembers it like some sort of strange dream.”

“And Diagon Alley? Who takes you to buy your supplies?”

“My supplies are covered by the scholarship. Prof. Sinistra took me to get my wand, but otherwise, everything I need – uniforms, books, ink and potions stuff, everything is by my bed when I get to Hogwarts.”

“As convenient as that is,” Peter says thoughtfully, “You're missing out on a tradition.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Every year near the end of August, the shopkeepers of Diagon Alley choose a day to put up discounts on school supplies and whatever else they think they might be able to sell to Hogwarts students. As the result, Diagon Alley is insanely crowded that day, but you get to see all your friends. It is a tradition and it can be fun.

“You'll come with us next year,” Cora decides. “With your dad. He doesn't need a permit for Diagon Alley, does he?”

Derek is keeping close, so his nose fill with it when Stiles' mood soars. “Seriously?”

Peter takes it upon himself to answer. “I don't see why not.”

“Don't you have to ask your, um, sister?” Stiles turns to Cora, adds, “Your mom?”

“Dad, actually, but he'll agree,” Cora says cheerfully. She's dad's favorite, of course he'll agree.

Stiles looks confused. “But I thought your mom...”

“She's the Alpha,” Derek explains. “But dad's got a shop set nearby Diagon Alley. We use it as headquarters, a place to dump things we buy so we wouldn't drag it around with us. Mom might be in charge of the pack, but dad is in charge of the shopping trips, since he has to bear the brunt of it.”

The stairs finally lend on the ground floor. If Derek's been alone, he'd wouldn't have bothered with them this morning. The stairwell has always looked like a great exercise to him and jumping the distance last night just proved it.

It's still far too early for any students to be up, less alone at breakfast, so there're no scents to blanket the person quickly approaching from the opposite direction. Derek can feel Cora bristle, and even Peter stiffens his back. Stiles is the only one unaware, and considering how well it's gone the last time Derek saw them both in one place, it's better to warn him.

“Prof. Argent,” he says quietly, leaning close. Stiles' heartbeat quickens to join the cacophony of Cora and Derek's, and it's deafening. He staggers until his shoulder is hitting Derek's, who puts his hand on his back in an attempt to telepathically communicate how very important it is not to give Peter a reason to doubt.

Kate shows up around the corner in her teacher's uniform, face devoid of makeup and hair tidily pulled up in a bun.

“Miss. Argent,” Peter says pleasantly.

“Professor,” Kate corrects with a sharp smile. “Mr. Hale. Cora, are you feeling better this morning?” Cora stiffly, grudgingly nods. “And Derek, I hear you put on quite a show last night. Saved lives, they say. We were very lucky you weren't affected.”

Derek is afraid Peter will hear something in his voice if he speaks up, but he can't ignore her.

“And you, Professor?” Stiles cuts in before he has to, voice almost sweet. Derek lets his fingers curl into the cloth of his jacket in gratitude. “Are you hurt?”

Kate smiles. “I'm afraid I missed the fun completely. I had to take young students to safety and stay with them.”

“We're headed to an early breakfast,” Peter says blandly. “Would you care to join us, Prof. Argent?”

“I've work to do still, a few children remain unaccounted for,” she declines. “They are probably still hiding in fear. It's not yet official, but classes will be canceled for the day. You three get some rest, okay?”

They go their separate ways.

Peter waits until they're sitting at the table that's already been set in the Great Hall to ask, “Do the three of you have any problems with Kate Argent?”

Derek says, “No.”

Cora shrugs, “Not personally.”

And Stiles stabs an egg. “I kinda want to slap her. With one of the Quidditch goal posts. The biggest one.”

“Yet you were the only one polite to her,” Peter notes. He's sitting across the table with Cora, from where he can studiously watch Stiles.

“You're comparing me with Derek and Cora here, Mr. Hale, who've been making a hobby out of projecting murderous rage this entire semester. Possibly longer, I'm not sure.”

“Oh, I can translate this one,” Cora offers. “It means, 'I'm a suck-up, Mr. Hale'.”

Derek snorts.

“Call me Peter, Stiles. There's so many Mr. Hales in the pack, it becomes confusing fast.”

“Peter, okay,” Stiles says with his mouth still half full. He swallows before he adds, “Where'd you know her from?”

“Overlapping interests.” It means nothing and Stiles doesn't miss it, if the dry look he directs at Peter is anything to go by.

Derek is getting a little agitated with the conversation continuing. His half-formed ideas how to change it disappear as a hand lands on and quickly squeezes his knee. It's not an accident, and it's not sexual. Feels more like... reassurance.

But Stiles is not looking at him at all, focused on Peter. “Any overlapping interests with her dad?”

Ah.

“A few. Why do you want to know?”

“Just, I saw him when he came to meet her in Hogsmeade. He made an impression, with his Azkaban experience and crazy talk, so I'm kind of curious. What was he in for?”

Peter, honestly, looks a little disturbed. As much as that's possible. “Hogsmeade,” he says quietly. He refocuses on Stiles, and Derek's listening carefully, full of dread and sudden curiosity. “The kids upstairs, in hospital, the Feral kids? He was in Azkaban because of them.”

“What do you mean, because of them?” Cora demands.

“You want to know the story, I presume?” Peter asks Stiles, who nods quickly. “During the war, a lot of humans were bitten. The plan was to make an army of werewolves to help the war effort. It didn't work out very well. Even the werewolves without any training and control are only the victim of their animal instincts during the full moon. The rest of the month, though, they're just people, free and capable to think about the war, on which side they really are, bad things they'd done. So most of them scattered, willing to try their luck on their own.”

“Okay, I read a little about that in a history book. It said that they were like a cult, those who remained, worshiping Voldemort and doing horrid things.”

“And make no mistake about it just because you're spending time with werewolves well-adjusted to the society, those who remained were vicious, sadistic beasts. I wouldn't call it a cult – if Greyback had any charisma, they might have been. He only knew how to control people with fear and that tended tp backfire. Either way, there were a few werewolves from his group who survived the war, and since they were muggles to begin with, managed to avoid capture by blending back into their old world.”

Derek and Cora know this story, yet they don't try to add something or comment. Peter is sometimes a little alarming, a little distant, ever since he's been through his losses, but he's always been a brilliant storyteller. Stiles has forgotten to eat his food, he's listening to that closely, and he's also forgotten his hand on Derek's knee.

“Eat,” Derek instructs, leaning toward him just a little. Stiles turns to blink at him, stuffs his mouth full of eggs and nods for Peter to continue.

“They were convinced that the Dark Lord will return, once again,” Peter proclaims. How he's managed that so somberly when only a second ago he's been smirking at Derek behind his glass of water is a Peter-typical mystery. “And that it was on them to make a new werewolf army for him. This time, though, they wouldn't risk people leaving them. They'll start early enough to help teach them the right way, show them which side is the right side.”

Fingers are digging into Derek's bone. “So, children.”

“Yes, children. They were sane and smart enough to pick up muggle children no one would care much for – the extremely poor, the orphans, children mistreated at home. No one knew what they were doing for years to come. When the aurors finally found them, Gerard's brother Alexander, a senior auror close to retirement, got bitten. Out of extreme prejudice werewolves suffered for generations, he was convinced he was nothing more than a beast and decided to kill himself.”

“And as nothing more than a beast, he was obviously fit to make that kind of decision,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “How does a wizard kill himself, anyway?”

“There's a spell for everything. This wizard was becoming a werewolf, though, so Alexander only had to drink a glass of brandy heavily infused with wolfsbane. Gerard didn't take it well. He stopped at nothing in his mission to get the Greyback's group of werewolves. It was a very public anti-werewolf campaign that culminated in a deranged call to arms. Fortunately for us, Harry Potter put himself firmly in our corner, which helped shut him up and turn the public away from him. He pulled himself out of the media's eye quickly and silently and for a while, that was that.”

“And then he attacked a werewolf and went to prison,” Cora says when Peter's dramatic pause stretches too long.

“No,” Peter says. “The werewolves were put in Azkaban. The children were taken care for by the War Orphans Foundation. Some were put with families, very well adjusted kids were sent home, if they had one. A few children, unfortunately, fell through the cracks of the system. An anonymous letter to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement lad the aurors to a cottage just off shore, far north from here. They found Gerard there. He was keeping three young werewolves in his basement, while the cottage itself was one large potions lab. Set there for one purpose only – to cure lycanthropy.”

“He was using the kids as test subjects?”

“Yes. They were driven to mindlessness and savageness, poisoned again and again. For a long while, we weren't sure they would ever get better.”

Derek, just like Cora, had no idea. No one's ever told them that – possibly to protect them. He thought the Ferals were just some of the werewolf children found when the adults were caught.

Kate's father did that? He hates werewolves that much?

“So you're telling me that Erica, Issac and Boyd,” Stiles cuts in through his horror sharply, “those kids we just now left upstairs, they were stolen from their unhappy homes, brainwashed by a loony werewolf sect and then tortured by a madman in a basement? That's what you're saying?”

Stiles' voice actually cracks at the end, he's so upset. Derek covers his hand, still firmly on Derek's knee, with his own. He says, “They're okay now.”

“Uh, no one's okay after a life like that. I can't believe he only got ten years. I'd put him on death row, feed him wolfsbane just for the irony.” Fingers dig into Derek's knee again, deliberately, but it's okay. Derek can see where the conversation has been going, and it's okay, so he does nothing. Stiles looks straight at Peter. “Tell me, what are the chances that it was an accident that _this_ happened at Hogwarts – this, moon-mad, poisoned werewolves - just after Gerard Argent got out of prison?”

“Slim, I'd say,” Peter admits. “Eat your breakfast, Mr. Stilinski, and if you happen to see Gerard again, owl me directly. I will be looking into it. I'm curious, though, how did you recognize him? He's been well known in the wizarding world, but that was before your time.”

Derek stops pretending they're not holding hands under the table, and rubs his thumb against the side of Stiles' wrist to show him that it's fine. Even if he wants to tell about Kate, he can. It's knowledge he's come by accidentally, and it's his to do with it whatever he wants.

Especially in the light of the complete story about Gerard. There's a part of Derek that still refuses to believe Kate meant him harm, but mostly, he thinks that Stiles has been right. And even though Derek stopped seeing Kate very soon after Stiles has figured it out, it hasn't been nearly soon enough.

Cora got hurt.

Stiles says, “I overheard a familiar name, actually. I didn't know who he was, but he was ranting about how Talia Hale ruined his life, and, er, there were some really nasty racist slurs involved, so I got closer. He was sitting with Kate and she called him dad, so...”

Peter's frowning at him, but not in disbelief. Stiles would probably never have sneaked that lie past Cora, either, if his heart rate hasn't escalated ever since Derek's thumb started pressing into his wrist. There might have been a truth or two mixed in there, too. He's a dangerously good liar, all things considered.

“You didn't tell me that,” Cora accuses.

“Well, your mom prosecuted a bunch of people, of course there'll be some angry ones,” Stiles steals Derek's argument shamelessly. “I didn't want to worry you. But now, after this story, I thought it'd be better if someone knew.”

“I'll look into it,” Peter says again.

The conversation turns to the upcoming winter break and Derek is surprised to realize he is a little disappointed the thing with Kate is still firmly a secret. A corner of his mind has already been celebrating that he'll be able to play Quidditch soon.

“I'm gonna have to ask for a new jacket,” Cora is saying. 'This one has a rip in it, and that's on top of the blood. What even happened? Whose blood is this?”

Hand in Derek's spasms. “Mostly yours, actually.”

The bloodstains are on Cora's shoulders, she probably can't see them as well as she can smell them. “Uh,” she says. “Good. I heard when Prof Sinistra was telling mom and dad about last night, that we were poisoned, but what happened? I don't remember much, we were at dinner, I think and....”

“And you were complaining about feeling restless. You were kind of regretting you didn't go with Derek when he called you. So Scott – being Scott – thought Quidditch might help.”

“Oh. Liam and Mason decided to come along.”

“Yeah. So we went up to the tower for you guys to change. You were acting a little aggressive but nothing alarming. The boys came back from their dorm soon, but you were up there for a long time and we couldn't go to get you. We were just about to call for help when you finally appeared.”

“I don't remember that at all.”

“Well, I'm not surprised. You shifted, like, you know, teeth and sideburns and claws, glowing eyes. It was very scary. And then it got scarier, because you charged at Liam, who was closest to you. Scott started shooting stunners right away, and, honestly, I fell right on my ass. Tripped over something in a panic. You were busy with Scott, though – the stunners weren't knocking you out, but they were affecting you. It gave me a moment to think.” Derek imagines the small smile Stiles shoots at him is grateful. “First I thought, something to blind you.”

“It wouldn't have helped much,” Peter says.

“I couldn't think of anything, anyway. But I remembered when Scott learned atmospheric charms, he said this girl kept the air pressure up too long, so she hurt her eardrum. There was some blood and stuff, she had to go to the Hospital Wing. So I tried that, aimed at you – you were attacking Scott at the time. And then you were screaming and holding your ears, there was blood everywhere, and Scott cast a binding spell on you. Well, we both cast a few, so you were almost entirely wrapped in ropes. Like a rope mummy. But yeah, then we took you to hospital.” Cora isn't happy she was taken down by an atmospheric charm, so she misses how anxious Stiles is about her reaction. “Sorry?”

She frowns at him. “What for?”

“Um, hurting you? I guess. I busted your eardrums. It looked painful.”

“It healed, Stiles,” Cora's suddenly sitting upright, eyes wide and terrified. “Oh my God, I almost killed you. I almost _killed_ you!”

“Cora, calm down,” Peter admonishes.

“How are you even sitting next to me? No wonder your heart is beating so fast, you're scared. You're _scared_. We won't be friends any longer.”

“Jesus, Cora, of course we are still gonna be friends.”

It helps a little, but she's still freaking out. Stiles catches her hand, trying to reassure her. He really needs a good book about this, if he decides to stick around.

Derek puts his other hand on his neck, nudges it a little to the side. It takes a few seconds for Stiles to get it.

“A show of trust,” he murmurs, lets his head tilt lower.

“You can look at her,” Derek tells him, moves his hand so Cora will have no doubt it's him offering this to her. She slumps back on the chair, still agitated but not freaking out. Stiles, too, is calming down.

“To change the subject,” Peter says like nothing of importance has happened. “What are you doing for Christmas, Stiles?”

“Uh, nothing in particular. It's just dad and me, so we watch TV, stay in our pajamas. Eat a lot. Exchange presents. The usual. But, um, it must be chaotic at your house. How many of you even live under one roof?”

'Thirteen. Arguably fourteen, since Nate's wife is pregnant.”

“I'm having a hard time imagining that. How many kids?”

“Not counting these two?” Peter smirks at Derek's eye roll. “Nate and Maya have twins and I have a daughter. So three for now.”

“That's awesome,” Stiles says, sounding a little wistful.

“If you don't mind me asking, your mother...”

“Oh, she died. Five years ago. That's why I couldn't come to Hogwarts when the letter first came, we were in a lot of debt. The tuition isn't bad, I know, but we were still in a tight spot so boarding school was out of the question, magical or not.”

“But you're here,” Peter prompts.

“Yeah, I don't think it happens often that a student declines the offer. In February next year, Prof. Sinistra came by our house again. She said she found a way to get me into the school, if I wanted. Orphans of War Foundation doesn't give scholarships normally, but I needed help, I lost my mom... Someone decided it's close enough. Of course, I jumped at the chance. My dad wasn't as thrilled, but we followed Prof. Sinistra. She took us to the Ministry of Magic, so my dad could sign some papers and there were reporters there to take pictures of the board members shaking hands with me. It was supposedly in the papers, but I never saw it.”

“Board members of Orphans of War? Wow, Stiles, you met Harry Potter, didn't you? Shook hands with him?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I did, I just had no idea who he was. I referred to him in my head as 'the annoyed guy with glasses'. Anyway, Hermione Granger left a better impression. She saw me open one of the books the Foundation gifted me with and start reading – I mean, it was about goblins, _real goblins_ , of course it was more exciting than some reporters asking questions to people I've never heard of. So she told me all about Eargit the Ugly and promised to send me more books.”

“Did she?” Cora eagerly demands. She's not the type to idolize and hero worship, but it is sort of exciting.

Stiles nods, “They came the very next day – that was the first owl I ever got. Some had belonged to her personally, had her name and everything, and once I realized she was actually a huge celebrity, I decided to leave those at home.”

“Probably for the best,” Peter decides.

“You must have been so disappointed to realize how boring goblins actually are,” Derek says.

For the first time, Stiles lets go of Derek to throw his hands up. “Oh my God! They're poor, oppressed species, fighting for their freedom for centuries! This really should appeal to your Gryffindor-ness!”

“Boring,” Cora calls from his other side and shares a grin with Derek.

Stiles is getting ready to fight when Peter interrupts, “I was thinking about what you said about your father never getting a chance to see what you're doing out here. Diagon Alley is a good place to show him, I think.”

“Right, but he'd only feel bad for being unable to buy me all the shiny things.”

“As much as he feels that way when you go out to muggle shops, I'd think,” Peter says. “Parents always feel bad when they can't give the whole world to their child, Stiles, I promise you that. I was under the impression you've been feeling a little misunderstood by your father. Was I wrong?”

“Uh, he doesn't mean it. It's just hard to believe when you don't get to see it all the time.”

“Therefore, I mention Diagon Alley. He doesn't need a permit. And Christmas is an excellent day to go there.”

Cora picks up instantly. “And we're always there at Christmas. You should come.”

“He still needs an anti anti-muggle charm, though.”

“Which I am perfectly capable of performing,” Peter points out.

“Well,” Stiles bites his lip, “it's not like we're doing anything more interesting... But won't we intrude on your holiday? Christmas is family time.”

“For Christians, sure. The Wizarding World mostly accepted it for the presents tradition. Consumerism,” Peter scoffs. He is one of the biggest arguers against Christmas in the world. “As wizarding folk, we celebrate the solstices and the equinoxes. As werewolves, we celebrate the moons. Like the upcoming one in January, the Hunger Moon.”

“Or the blue moon, when it comes,” Cora adds.

“That's the extra one, right?”

Peter looks pleased. “I'm surprised you know that.”

“Uh, I may have spent a few hours watching a video of it on YouTube, waiting for it to turn blue. It was really disappointing.”

The door to the Great Hall opens and a few older students come in. It must be close to eight. They've been talking for that long?

Peter stands up, “Talk to your father about the Christmas day. I'm looking forward to meeting him. Cora, come with me, let's find your parents.”

They leave as another group of students enters the Hall, talking quietly about Christmas. Peter is assuring Cora he doesn't have an ulterior motive, unless she counts making Derek happy. He stops listening.

“Come on, let's find McCall. He'll want to know you're okay.”

Stiles gratefully leads the way toward the tower.

“Is something wrong?” Stiles asks after a few minutes of silence. “You look... kinda concerned.”

“I'm not. It's just, Peter's not usually that... courteous. It's all biting sarcasm and plotting murders with him.” He gets a laugh for it, but it's not actually a joke.

“You think he's up to something?”

“He usually is. But I know exactly what he's up to this time, and it's a weird feeling.”

“I guess he really wants me to like him, for some reason, what with indulging me with stories and inviting my dad, but I don't get why.” Derek raises his eyebrows slowly, pointedly, because Stiles is anything but stupid. “Okay, maybe I do. I don't get why _me_ , though. They could pick just about anyone in the world and nudge them toward you and that person would be perfectly happy to go for it.”

That... could be the most flattering thing anyone has ever told Derek in his life.

“You don't have to do anything. Even if you decide to come, he won't expect anything from you, you have to understand that. The reason Peter wants you with us when the whole family is there is to show _me_ something.” It's a wasted effort, because it all comes down to showing Derek that to a werewolf, approval of his pack means a world. The satisfaction Derek's felt that morning when it's become obvious Laura is quite taken with Stiles in her own way, when Nate offered his hand, when mom laughed, when Peter listened and acknowledged Stiles' worries, that's been more than enough. “He's using you, though, so really. You can decide to use him in turn, get what you want. He'll respect that, in his shrewd Slytherin way. Or you can tell him to fuck off.”

Stiles stops in the middle of the hallway. He's practically pouting when Derek steps back to face him, “Geez, Derek, how am I supposed to stay mad at you if you're gonna be that earnest and helpful and look so pretty?”

Right. Kate. Fighting.

Derek steps closer, and follows when Stiles backs up a little, to ask quietly. “Do you want me to tell them?”

He wants Stiles to want it. He wants Stiles to feel possessive of him and demand her gone, which is... a new and a strange thing to feel.

“I want... If you tell now, and she gets fired, and she actually poisoned those kids, we might never prove it. Cops don't order suspects not to leave town for nothing, right?” His lower lip is turning red under the pressure of his teeth and Derek finally allows himself to watch it. Stiles inhales suddenly and rushes to say, “I don't want you to see her anymore. She might hurt you.”

“Okay.” He's done that already, anyway.

That red mouth now falls open. “Okay? It's that easy? I ask and you say okay?”

“I know Cora told you I haven't seen her in weeks,” Derek says, and then, because they have to talk about this, “Anyway, you have the right to ask.”

“What?”

Derek takes his chin in hand and urges him to tilt his head to the left. There it is, the cut he has been trying desperately not to think about actively in front of family, in front of Cora and Peter, but could smell with every breath he took the whole night and morning. It's really there, tiny and angry red.

“It hasn't healed.”

Stiles reaches to touch it gingerly. “Yeah. I meant to see the mediwizard about it, but, well. I don't know. It doesn't hurt and I don't really want it gone.”

Stiles' fingers feel familiar in his hand when Derek moves them so he can freely stare at and breathe in the tiny cut. “I didn't mean to break the skin. I barely did. But it took.”

“It took?” Stiles swallows heavily, nervously. “Derek, what exactly is that?”

“A claiming bite.”

“Oh my God, oh no. How's this happened? Are we werewolf engaged now? Do we have to marry? Do werewolves mate for life? Oh, shit, I'm not gonna turn into a werewolf, am I?”

As the questions race, he's getting more and more upset and his eyes are getting wider.

“Shh. It's no to all. You won't turn, I can't give that kind of bite anyway. We're not engaged and we don't have to do anything we don't want to. Okay?”

“Okay.“ Stiles reaches to touch the cut like he's reintroducing his fingers with it. “What does it mean, though?”

This isn't exactly easy to explain, but Derek tries, “Giving a claiming bite to someone is basically asking their permission to court them. It's like a werewolf equivalent ofasking them out, only that kind of official dating is more intense than humans usually engage in.”

“Oh. You made it sound worse than that.”

“That's because it's supposed to be a _bite_. Teeth in deep, blood. And even then, there has to be an interest on both sides for it to take. This is barely a scrap.”

There's a light, nervous touch against Derek's hip just before Stiles says, voice barely more than a whisper, “I guess I had to want you pretty badly for it to take.”

“It goes both ways,” Derek repeats.

Stiles' fingers on his hip are now a solid warmth that pulls Derek in, closer. There a low burn of potential, of arousal, rushing in rivulets just under his skin, but it's faint. Between them, there's mostly a sweet, tickling warmth and a lightness right now. It's one of those mushy moments Derek has heard about but hasn't quite believed are possible. Still, he wants to lick the bite, maybe around it, too, and Stiles seems to be reading his mind because he angles his head further to give Derek access...

The smell of blood reaches Derek's nose so suddenly, he thinks for a blank second that he's managed to hurt Stiles again, somehow.

“Derek?”

He inhales again, focuses on it. “There's blood.”

“What, like on me? That's been there since last night.”

“Fresh blood, it's coming from...” Derek follows it, unsettled. It's so thick in the air, he can't believe he hasn't scented it as it built. It's like someone suddenly opened a scent-proofed door directly behind his back.

Stiles is running with him, though Derek can't even remember when he's started running. “Kate said there are a few kids still missing.”

Derek doesn't answer, can't. He's sure no one could survive the loss of the amount of blood he can smell, especially not a kid. Not even two kids.

They're heading down, down to the dungeons, down the unfamiliar hallways that need to be lit with torches in the middle of the day. Not once they get across a closed door or a dead end - Derek's nose just fills more and more with the scent of blood, and he's running faster.

By the time he stops in front of a heavy double door left ajar, it's a miracle Stiles has managed to keep up with him.

Derek looks at where he's panting heavily, “You okay?”

“Running. 'S been a while. Is that where's it's coming from?”

Derek nods, steps forward. Nothing good is behind these doors, but he's got no choice but check, in case someone needs help. He pushes them open, lets the light from the torches in the hallways reach inside as much as possible. It's not nearly enough, not even for him. The scent of blood tenfolds, but it's not pure. There are other scents blended into it, tied around it – herbs Derek does not recognize, a strange acrid smoke that burns his nose.

Next to him, Stiles conjures light with his wand. It's a strong spell, the flare at the top of his wand large and bright, but that's not enough to envelop more than a small space around them in the light. Derek's not sure how large the room is, not even with their steps echoing back to them. It's like every single sound they produce comes back with a different information – one step sounds like they are in a broom closet, another like they are in the Great Hall sized room.

Stiles points his lit want in different directions as they move forward. The light still doesn't reach all the way to the walls, but the room is obviously an old assembly hall, with the rows of seats lining up the descend from the door to a stage at the bottom. And the stage... the stage is all set for an audience.

“Oh, I think I'm gonna throw up,” Stiles says, but he pushes forward, takes the stairs down toward the horror waiting there. “We should get someone.”

They should, Derek should run and get someone – anyone, but the last thing he wants to do is leave Stiles in this room alone. So he follows him down instead.

There's no hurry, anyway. Nothing in this room is alive.

Stiles says, voice wobbling, “This – this is...”

No, there are no words. Up on the stage, there are four dead bodies. Four – children. Second or third year, _maybe_. Each body is set against one of the decorative statues at the back of the stage – the Four Founders of Hogwarts.

Stiles comes closer, his light unrevealing details of the scene as Derek follows very closely.

Each child has a house scarf wrapped around their shoulders tightly, but not the rest of the winter gear. The scarves match the stature – under the tall form of Godric Gryffindor, the child is wrapped in gold and red.

Stiles reaches out, touches the Gryffindor girl's neck.

“What are you doing?” Derek demands, pulls him back.

Stiles looks back him in the wand-light, eyes glossy and weirdly blank. “Checking her pulse, checking if she's alive.”

“No one's alive here, Stiles. Don't touch them.”

Stiles nods, but makes his way to the next on, the Ravenclaw. “This one isn't stabbed. He was hit on the head.”

Derek keeps closer still, he's practically breathing down Stiles' neck as he continues across the stage. “This one – God, strangled. And Slytherin, this is probably poison?”

The last child, another boy, has froth on his mouth, eyes frozen in a terrified stare. “Stiles, we need to get out of here.”

“No, we need to get people here. If we leave – some children might stumble in here.”

 _He_ sounds like a child right now, small and scared. Derek takes his arm, pulls him back. “Out in the hall is close enough to stop anyone from coming inside.”

Stiles nods, then shakes his head. “It feels wrong to just leave them here alone. Just – just call people here.”

“I'm not leaving you here.”

“Yeah, I meant – your family is still here, too. Just call them here. Howl. Can you?”

Derek nods. Yeah, yeah he can. He _wants_ to. So he tips his head back and lets the horror of the sight before him enter his voice as he thinks of his mom, and the rest of them. It's a howl of grief as much as a call out, so much that Derek is a little surprised at it.

When he's done, Stiles closes his gaping mouth, then says, “Can't you – shouldn't you be able to scent whoever did this?”

Derek inhales a startled breath. He should. He hasn't thought of it because – because there's been nothing to remind him. There's the scent of the blood, all mixed in an impersonal bland but no individual scents.

“I can't even scent the children,” he says. “Whoever did this, they hid their scents. They hid all the scents.”

The thought rises like a poisonous snake in his mind – Kate is so good at masking the scents. An expert, really.

“Damn,” Stiles mutters. “I guess that'd have been too easy. Who'd do this, though? Why? It looks – staged. It looks like – I don't know. An offering of sacrifices? To the founders? Or in their names? I don't get it. I really want to go to the library.”

Derek means to answer him, but he can hear the running. “They're coming, come on.”

He drags Stiles along, up the stairs. They're at the door just in time to meet Cora. Derek's not surprised she's the first one there, she's always been so much faster than everyone else.

“What's going on?” She asks even as she sniffs the air and looks them both up and down for the possible source of the blood. They're not hurt, and that's enough to calm her down some. “What's in there?”

“You don't need to see it,” Derek tell her.

“The hell I don't.”

“Cora,” Stiles tries to block her way, which causes her to hesitate just enough for Derek to snatch her around the waist and take her away from the door.

Laura and Nate come next, then mom and Peter. Derek assumes dad remained to lead down the headmistresses.

“Derek?” Mom says.

Peter, Derek notes distractedly, goes immediately to Stiles.

“Just – go inside,” he tells his mom, unsure how he'd explain.

She nods, says, “Everyone, stay here – Peter?”

The two of them disappear behind the door.

Laura says, “Merlin, Derek, what's in there? That howl – who died?”

Derek shakes his head, “I don't – I don't know them. They're just...”

“Students,” Stiles adds. Derek hasn't noticed how closely his siblings have made a circle around him in an attempt to console him until he sees Stiles on the side, hand gripping his wand tightly. Nate, standing closest to him, grabs his hand and drags him into the circle, between Derek and Cora. They close ranks even tighter, and Derek can feel when most of Stiles' tension drains along with his. “Four of them, one from every house. Someone's killed them.”

“You're kidding,” Laura says.

“The blood's fresh, right? Still wet.”

“Yeah,” Laura turns her head sideways, inhale carefully. “But I can't – all I can smell is the blood.”

“And herbs,” Nate adds.

“The really weird things is,” Derek says, because it's been bothering him. “there's barely any blood in there. One of the kids is stabbed, but the sword is still in her chest. A boy was hit on the head, but again. There should be more blood than that for it to smell so much.”

“And the other two?”

Stiles informs her, “The Hufflepuff kid was strangled, and the Slytherin was poisoned. No blood.”

“And there's no one else?” Laura asks Derek. “You're sure?” He is sure, so he nods. “Okay, so whoever did this, they enhanced the smell of blood. Knowing it'll draw us here, to find them quickly?”

“Good distraction – if you're confident you won't get caught.”

“I'd say it's someone from the inside, since they know their way around - but the entirety of the wizarding world has gone through Hogwarts,” Stiles says. “Do you think the wards note who comes in and out?”

No one gets a chance to answer – not that they'd know, or at least Derek doesn't - when Peter comes back out. He's looking very pale, and Derek itches to drag him into their little circle.

“Derek, Cora – go pack. You're coming home with us right away.” Peter instructs them. “Stiles, you're welcome to come with us. If you'd rather go straight home, I'm sure Hogwarts will officially send all students early for holidays as soon as they can arrange it.”

Stiles looks a little torn, but he says quickly, “I want to see my father. But, uh, thanks.”

Derek hates the thought of him staying behind at Hogwarts, and Cora whines a little, too.

“Or,” Peter offers after a nod. “I can take you home myself.”

“I – okay. Right now? Will Prof. Sinistra be upset? Won't the pol – the aurors want to talk to us?”

“I expect one student less to worry about can only make the situation better,” Peter says. “I'll let her know. And the aurors will get your names and contact information, so they can come to you if they have questions. Go get your things, and all of you – keep in groups.”

Peter goes back through the door, leaving the five of them.

“Alright,” Laura says in her best 'I'm the next Alpha voice' – which frankly doesn't do much for Derek's sense of obedience. “We'll go with Cora to pack you, and Derek, you stay with Stiles until Peter can take over. Meet you in the Great Hall?”

But this is an order he is happy enough to follow. As Nate nudges Cora to follow after Laura, who's already marching down the hall, Derek tells them, “Make sure you get my Christmas presents.”

“You trust them to pack you?” Stiles says as they start following at a more sedate pace.

“No, not really. I just can't bring myself to care about it right now.” Derek nods upward, “Ravenclaw?”

Stiles makes a face, “Uh, no. No. I haven't been up there in weeks. All my stuff is – I'll show you.”

Steps quickening, Stiles leads them through the castle. He is still clutching his wand tightly, like he's headed into a battle. Three hallways down on the second floor, he squeezes behind an armor and through a tapestry. There's a long, narrow room there – more like a short hallway that leads nowhere.

“Cora found it,” Stiles says. “Welcome to my home away from home!”

There's a makeshift bed on one side, a fairy light in a jar on the trunk next to it. “You've been sleeping here?”

“Yeah, mostly. Sometimes up in the tower with Scott – but it's a little crowded there. This is good, though. Closer to the Great Hall, too.”

“Stiles...” Derek says, unsettled with the sad little, secluded hiding spot.

“Don't,” Stiles demands, the false brightness of his voice gone. “Don't use that tone.”

Everything is neat and packed already in here. Derek and Cora's things definitely aren't. They've got some time, so Derek sits down on Stiles' tidy little bed, back against the wall. He closes his eyes, breathes in.

“What are you doing?”

“Everything just smells like you in here.” It's not exactly true – there are Scott and Allison's scents, and Cora's still lingering. There's ink and old paper, potion supplies – chocolate Stiles has probably hidden somewhere to take home to his father. But that's all the part of Stiles, it blends into the sense Derek has of him.

Stiles lowers himself to kneel on the mattress. “And that's... good?”

Well, it certainly isn't bad. Derek nods. “Sit down, it'll take them a bit to pack.”

Stiles sits down next to him, very close. He's not as warm as he should be, and he's pressing into Derek's side like he's trying to borrow the body heat. For a moment, Derek can't shake the thought that Kate never got so close to him except when they were about to have sex, but then Stiles bends his knees sideways and, impossibly, manages to get even closer. They're huddled together in as little space as they can take together, Derek's arm around Stiles' knees and Stiles' breath against Derek's shoulder blade.

“It's like after studying for a test,” Stiles whispers. “When letters and words dance in front of your eyes whenever you close them? Only I keep seeing their faces.”

There's a shiver in his voice, and even though Derek is pretty sure it's not that, he has to check, “You're cold.”

“No. No, this is okay.” But when he presses his nose into Derek's sweater, it's cold even through the cloth. “That's the only problem with sleeping here – the charms wear off sooner or later. It's gets freezing just before dawn.”

“You can't keep sleeping here, Stiles. The winter's only just started, if you're freezing now...”

“And there's the issue of a murdering psychopath running around the castle,” Stiles adds. “Will they even let us to come back?”

“Hogwarts has been through worse than this. They just need to find the person who did it.”

“If they do. God, I hope they do.” He sounds so surprised, Derek turns to look at his face. Stiles puts his chin on Derek's shoulder, to make it easier. His eyes are wide, and wondering. “I mean, of course I do, but for a while there, I thought I'd welcome any excuse to just give up, go home and never come back. Scott was the only thing I loved about this whole experience, and we see each other outside of Hogwarts during summers.”

“What about magic?”

“Magic... is useful. I'm good at it – at learning new spells and theory and stuff. It's great, but this castle is huge and magic doesn't make you feel any less lonely.”

A hazy memory comes to Derek, from the first time he remembers talking to Stiles. He hates Hogwarts at night, thinks it's scary. And he had to come here, sleep all on his own, away from people.

“You really can't keep sleeping here when we come back.”

“Well,” Stiles says quietly, a tiny smirk curling his mouth. “Not alone, anyway.”

Derek opens his mouth to say _yes_ or maybe _please_ , but before he can, Stiles jerks away and up, as if horrified with his own boldness. “We're probably out of time, I'm sure your uncle won't wait for me forever. Come on, help me.”

They'll have to address this ridiculous insecurity, but not today. There's a lingering horror and shock still in both of them, bad time to build and solve things. They've found a little comfort in each other – in Derek's pack, earlier. That's enough, for now.

Derek stands up and helps him stuff the bedding and the light into the trunk. Stiles levitates it through the tapestry and over the head of the armor that's blocking the entrance with a sure, experienced hand.

“At least I get to see my dad three days early,” Stiles says, cheered up by it.

“Peter will want to meet him,” Derek warns him.

“That's okay. Maybe it's the story you told us on Halloween, but I don't mind Peter at all.”

And judging by Peter's swift offer to take him home and away from possible danger as soon as possible, Peter doesn't mind Stiles at all, either.

In front of the entrance to the Great Hall, everyone's already waiting for them.

“There you are,” dad says when they come in sight. “We have a portkey locked in less than fifteen minutes, Derek, we have to hurry.”

Derek nods, but Stiles grumbles, “Well, if anyone's bothered to tell us that...”

He cringes as soon as he says it, like he thinks a little bit of back talk might actually sway the man who raised Laura. And Cora. Dad instead just drags him into a distracted, one armed hug. Stiles makes a startled yelp that has Laura snickering openly.

“Peter says you might join us for Christmas? Good, good.”

Nate and Laura shoulder each other on their way to take their turn and hug Stiles. They are all acting so normal, Derek has to remind himself that they've never walked inside that theater room. They don't know what it looks like in there, they haven't seen it – and it's a good thing.

Stiles steps back in alarm when the scuffle goes on, right into Derek. “You guys ever heard of rock-paper-scissors?”

Derek pushes him back forward, where Nate and Laura, predictably, quit elbowing each other in order to take him in a firm joint hug. By the time Cora flings herself at him, Stiles looks resigned and mildly entertained.

Mom is the gentlest one, mindful of how new he is to this. “Peter is arranging your permission to leave early – it's a little chaotic among the staff right now, as you can imagine. You wait right here for him, in the open. Don't go wandering the castle.”

“Uh,” Stiles says with a frown. “I wanted to check on Erica, say bye to Scott.”

“Erica is as fine as Cora is, and you can write your friends as soon as you arrive home safely.”

There's a little of Alpha in moms voice as she reprimands him, and Derek is close enough still that he can feel Stiles bristle, even as he nods. Mom can feel it, too, and she smoothens the smile. She wouldn't be the Alpha if she doesn't enjoy a little bit of a challenge occasionally.

Neither of them would trust that single nod, but Peter is already coming along. He'll keep Stiles safe.

“Hurry along, Derek,” mom says, and follows where dad already started leading the way outside.

Cora waves once again, “I'll send you Arlene so you can write Scott and Allison!”

The huge door shut and leave them with an illusion of privacy for a moment. Stiles turns to face Derek, biting his lips. “Right, so. Christmas?”

Derek nods, noses his way right into Stiles' neck to leave a dry, quick kiss on top of the bite. He's turning away to leave, before he can see the reaction, but when he turns for a second while the door is closing, Stiles is smiling with a hand on his neck.

Mom is lingering a little behind like she knows what's coming. Derek catches up with her, says, “I need to talk to you.”

“Alright. What about?”

Derek wonders, just for a moment, if he's a bad person for this to come to him as a relief, so easily. Or maybe he's just weak.

Either way, he says without hesitation, “About Kate Argent.”

And that's all. It's over.

He's done.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to split this story up because it's so different from this point on – not in tone, but in the settings (mostly off Hogwarts) and themes (more family oriented, deals with pack and mystery and developing relationship and grief).  
> It changes nothing, really. The story picks up with Stiles and Peter, not a minute after this ends, and carries us through the winter break and the Hunger Moon in January.

**Author's Note:**

> [uzercalo](http://uzercalo.tumblr.com/)


End file.
